


delivery entrance to narnia

by irishmizzy, miss_bennie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_bennie/pseuds/miss_bennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You okay?” Niall mouths. Zayn knows he’s mouthing it but he can hear it loud and clear, which is fucking weird. He blinks. His head hurts, right on the top where Liam had touched it, but all over, too.</p><p>(The one where Zayn gets superpowers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	delivery entrance to narnia

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, Ross, pressing my third nipple opens the delivery entrance to the magical land of Narnia.

**the lightning, the rain and the microphone**

It happens so fast Zayn doesn’t even register it, even though the thunder is so loud and the lightning so bright he jumps, nearly dropping his mic.

“Fuck!” he shouts, making the whole row of girls along the catwalk scream louder. His hand fucking hurts, his whole palm tingling like he’s stuck his finger in a socket. He knew it was a shit idea not to postpone the concert. He can practically feel the electricity in the air, this dangerous hum crackling around them. They’re fucked out here, standing in puddles, surrounded by all this equipment.

“Alright?” Liam sidles up beside him. Zayn hadn’t realized he was dizzy until Liam’s arm is around his shoulders, steadying him.

“Yeah, I just --” Zayn shakes out his hand that had been holding the mic. He’s sopping wet and while leaning against Liam is helping a bit, Liam’s soaked through, too, so mostly Zayn’s cold and wet and annoyed again. “Think I got a bit of a shock.”

“It looked like the lightning was coming right for you.” Liam touches the top of Zayn’s head, eyes crinkling as he makes a noise Zayn can’t hear over the crowd. “It was sick, mate.”

“Is he alright?” Niall asks. “That was fucking mental.”

Zayn thinks mental is the better word for it, and when Liam spins away to sing his verse, Zayn turns to tell Niall he’s fine, only Niall’s not behind him like thought, he’s halfway up the stage.

Zayn shakes his head, water flying everywhere. Niall probably legged it back to Harry when he realized Zayn was fine. 

“You okay?” Niall mouths. Zayn knows he’s mouthing it but he can hear it loud and clear, which is fucking weird. He blinks. His head hurts, right on the top where Liam had touched it, but all over, too. 

It takes him a second to pull himself together enough to shoot Niall a half-hearted thumbs up, Niall grinning and shooting one back. 

“Thank fuck,” Niall says, his mouth not moving at all, and Zayn, fuck, he really needs to sit down.

**

It gets worse throughout the show, until it’s over and they’re all backstage and all Zayn can hear is Niall, a steady stream of “that show was sick I am so cold Willie had better clean up that mess he left” that has Zayn reeling. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Harry says, his hand on Zayn’s back as they stumble through the bowels of the stadium. 

“What?” Zayn has to focus to hear him over Niall wondering if Harry’s going to want to go out tonight, what time their plane leaves in the morning, is it ten or eleven. “No, I’m fine.”

“Bagsy first shower,” Louis yells, shoving Liam aside, Liam’s wet shoes slipping on the floor so he almost falls. 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Harry says, “I called it before the show. Louis!”

“I could beat them if I tried.” Niall watches the three of them go past. “It’s too cold to run. These jeans are going to be a bitch to get off.”

“Niall, wait, Niall.” Zayn’s behind him so he has to jog a bit to catch up. 

“Why am I so cold?” Niall turns around, wet hair plastered to his forehead. “Zayn looks weird, hope he doesn’t die from the rain.”

“Niall!” Zayn yells and everything goes quiet for a minute, Niall’s brow furrowing.

“What the fuck’s he shouting for, I was just standing here.” Niall’s mouth doesn’t move at all and that’s when Zayn knows, for sure knows, that this whole thing is fucked up beyond belief.

“What’s up?” Niall asks. He thinks _Zayn looks like shit_ and Zayn scowls, which makes Niall frown back at him. “What’s with you?”

“It’s --” Zayn tugs at his hair, feeling hysterical. He’s shivering, both of them still dripping wet, but he knows if he doesn’t say it now he’ll go out of his mind. Part of him feels like he already has. “It’s fucking weird, bro, like. I think something happened, when that lightning hit.” 

He looks down at his hands. There’s a bright pink slash across his palm where he’d been holding his mic. His whole hand feels hot.

“Jesus,” Niall says, “did you tell Paul?” 

“No, it’s not -- my hand’s fine.” 

“Doesn’t look fine,” Niall says. Or doesn’t say. He thinks it, Zayn tells himself, though it’s no less annoying to hear. He doesn’t need a bloody doctor right now, at least not for his hand.

Zayn huffs loudly and says, “I can like, hear your thoughts now.” 

“What?” Niall laughs like Zayn’s pulling his leg.

“My hand doesn’t look fine and you’re going to nick Harry’s jumper before he gets out of the shower and that girl in the third row with the white vest had the best tits out of anyone in her section,” Zayn says all in a rush. 

Niall’s eyes go so wide it’s like they’re going to bug out of his head. 

_What the fuck_ , he thinks, and then he says it out loud. It’s like a tape delay. LIke a badly synced movie. Zayn’s head really fucking hurts.

“What am I thinking now?” 

“That this is a dumb joke but if it were real it’d be legend,” Zayn sighs, pointing to Niall’s crotch, “and that your pants are starting to chafe.”

The complete and total silence that follows is a relief except for how the noise comes back twofold when Niall throws himself at Zayn, laughing and shouting, “Holy shit, Zayn! _Zayn_!”

**

“Lads!” Niall’s downright giddy about it, dragging Zayn into the room by his sleeve, his mind going so fast Zayn can barely keep up. It’s giving him a headache -- well, making the one he already has worse.

“Haz’s in there now, then Liam, then you two can duke it out,” Louis says, voice muffled by the towel he’s scrubbing over his hair. 

“Hurry the fuck up!” Niall bangs on the door to move Harry along.

“He just got in,” Liam says, handing Niall a dry towel. He brings one over for Zayn as well, draping it over his shoulders. It helps a little. 

“He’s going to want to hear this.” Niall’s internal monologue is mostly _unfuckingbelievable ZAYN CAN YOU HEAR THIS what is taking so long, Jesus, Harry_ on a loop, which Zayn would think was hilarious if it weren’t so fucking weird. “Harry, I swear to --”

“Niall,” Harry whines, the water cutting off, “I was in there for like, thirty seconds.” He glares at Niall as he comes out, towel around his waist, skin pink from the hot water. “I’m going to stand in the doorway and shout the whole time you shower and see how you like it.”

“Sounds fun, can’t wait.” Niall claps his hands together and pivots toward the room at large. Zayn winces, getting a preview of what Niall’s planning.

“Can I go now?” Liam asks, just as Louis prods Zayn’s ankle with his toe and asks, “What’s with you?”

“I -- “ Zayn starts.

“He can hear my thoughts,” Niall says, grinning widely while everyone else stares at them. Louis is the one to burst out laughing first.

“Wicked,” he says. “Alright, what am I thinking?”

Zayn scowls. “I can’t hear _you_ , Louis, only Niall.”

Liam’s looking back and forth between Niall and Zayn like he’s trying to understand. “So…”

“So you can only hear Niall?” Harry asks. 

Zayn nods, pulling the towel tighter around his shoulders. He should’ve taken off his wet shirt. His head hurts and his hand hurts and he’s fucking freezing.

“Think it was like, the lightning, yeah?” He turns to Liam. “That big one, right before you came over. I got like, a shock and then --” he nods to where Niall’s standing.

Niall does jazz hands, grinning, making Zayn chuckle when he thinks _Ta da!_ Niall laughs after that, beaming like he’s told Zayn a hilarious joke.

“Okay,” Louis nods, watching them both, “so it’s just Niall then? What’s he thinking now?” 

“Ta da,” Niall and Zayn say at the same time, Niall grinning while Zayn’s face stays neutral. 

“Impressive.” Louis nods again. He thinks they’re taking the piss, Zayn knows it, and he’s just going along like maybe the others’ll believe it if he helps. “What num--”

“No,” Zayn says, because he doesn’t want to play what number is Niall thinking. Part of him wishes this were just a big prank, something he and Niall cooked up while everyone else was kicking a football around earlier, but it’s not. Louis’ll figure it out soon enough, everyone will, and until then, whatever. “I’ll shower if you want to wait.”

“Fuck no, I’m freezing me arse off.” Niall chucks his damp towel at Zayn, calling, “You snooze you lose!” over his shoulder as he goes.

“Niall!” Liam yells. “It was _my_ turn!”

Louis laughs. “That was the plan then? Tell us you’ve got telepathy and cheat Payno out of a shower? Good one.”

He grabs Zayn’s wrist, lifting his hand and forcing Zayn to high five him. He drops it like a hot stone when Zayn hisses.

“Fuck, Louis.” Zayn glares at him, cradling his hand to his chest.

“What, now you’ve got glass bones and you need to shower next, is that it?” 

“You can if you really want,” Liam says agreeably, wedging his way in between Louis and Zayn. It’s better with him as a buffer; Zayn relaxes a bit, trying to ignore how even when Niall’s out of the room he can still hear his thoughts. It makes sense, he could still hear him on stage and they were probably further apart then. But still. Zayn tips his head back, closing his eyes. Niall’s right, this is unfuckingbelievable.

“Louis.” There’s a quiet urgency to Liam’s voice that makes Zayn open his eyes. He’s got Zayn’s upturned palm in his hand, him and Louis both staring at it in horror. “When -- what -- how?”

“The lightning,” Zayn says, his heart thudding in his chest. He hadn’t been worried about it before, it’s not like it’s blistered or bloody, but he’s suddenly scared that something’s actually wrong. He pulls his hand away from Liam, pushes himself further into the corner of the sofa. “That’s where I was holding my mic.”

“You actually got _struck by lightning_?” Louis’s voice is so high-pitched Zayn winces. 

“I’ll go find some burn cream,” Harry offers.

“I’m fine, Haz,” Zayn says, but Harry’s already gone. He sighs. “I don’t think I got like, struck, yeah? It’s not like my eyebrows singed off. But… I dunno.” He shrugs, staring at his hand. 

“But your hand’s burnt and you can hear Niall’s thoughts,” Liam says.

“And no one else’s,” Louis adds.

Zayn shrugs. “Just Niall.”

The room is quiet for a moment and Zayn feels like he’s standing on the edge of something, waiting to jump. Louis and Liam are both watching him, concerned and confused and worst of all, disbelieving in a way he’s never associated with either of them.

“I don’t,” he starts, and then, because he doesn’t know how else to prove it, he sings “Hips Don’t Lie” at the exact second as Niall starts belting it out in the shower.

**

It’s only him and Louis on the jet back to London, everyone else going straight from Bern to Italy. 

“Maybe if you try now,” Louis says, “with no one else around as a distraction?”

“Don’t think it works like that, Lou.”

Zayn’s even more exhausted than usual. They’re leaving late because they’d spent an inordinate amount of time testing Zayn, Louis running into the loo to ask Niall questions and then Zayn saying Niall’s answers. The same thing over and over, Liam and Harry wanting their own turns, too, to prove no one was in on it. 

It’s got them here now, though, everyone flabbergasted and impressed, like Zayn’s got a fun new trick to pull out in interviews while Harry juggles.

“What a boring superpower,” Louis sniffs, crossing his arms. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Already know what you’re thinking all the time anyway,” Zayn says, digging out his lighter, laughing at the way Louis’s face lights up. It’s late and Zayn’s beat but the plane’s blissfully quiet and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s never needed to unwind more than he does in this minute.

**

“Welcome back, babe,” Perrie says, pulling him down until he’s sprawled on top of her on the sofa. 

Zayn kisses her hello, letting it turn into something with intent, one hand on the curve of her neck, her pulse steady under his thumb. It’s been hard, flying back and forth all the time, but coming home to this is worth it. It’s better this way.

Perrie makes a soft sound, turning her cheek to break the kiss. She’s got a furrow in her brow that makes him think of Niall in the cold hallway of the stadium. Zayn goes still, trying to focus, but he can’t hear Perrie’s thoughts, either. It’s still just Niall.

“It rained,” he cuts himself off with a yawn, “rained the whole show.”

Perrie hums, scratching the back of Zayn’s neck until he sighs, contented. He thinks he could rally, have a lazy shag right here and then pass out for a solid eight hours, but when Perrie whimpers, shifting away, he realizes he just as easily could go to sleep now. The whole day’s finally catching up with him.

“Babe,” he says, nosing at the thin cotton of her shirt.

“You can tell me about it in the morning, yeah?” Perrie tugs a blanket off the back of the sofa, tucking it over both of them. She sounds far away. He dimly registers her turning up the volume on the telly, her free hand smoothing down his spine, and then he’s out like a light.

**

“No, wait,” Perrie turns her head, pushing at Zayn’s shoulder when he tries to keep kissing her, “stop.”

“You okay?” Zayn sits up, sliding his hand down so he’s only cupping her ribs. He can feel her breath hitch and it’s horrifying to realize she’s on the brink of tears. He ducks down, aiming to press a kiss to her temple, but she flinches away. Zayn feels like he’s been slapped.

“I’m sorry,” she says, scooting backwards on the bed like she’s trying to put distance between them. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just -- I keep thinking about them and I can’t…” 

“About who?” Zayn touches her ankle, feeling lost. 

“The other girls.” Perrie’s hand slices through the air. “Whenever I kiss you I see them -- you and them.” Her voice cracks and it makes Zayn feel like he’s cracking in half, guilt splitting him open. “It’s like I’m living it, like it’s happening right in front of me.” 

Zayn’s stunned, torn between wanting to punch himself and wanting to hold her. He strokes his thumb over her instep, figuring that’s as much as she’ll allow. 

“Pez.”

“It’s like watching a fucking film I don’t want to see.” She shakes her head, tears stuck in her eyelashes. “Why now?”

Zayn slowly looks at his hand, still pink. It throbs. He feels like he’s going to be sick everywhere when he says, “Um.”

**

“It’s not just Niall,” he tells Louis, back on the plane, just as exhausted as the last time.

“Oh sick, you can hear Pezza, too?”

“No,” Zayn says, only no sound comes out.

**

“You can kiss me if you want,” Harry offers, “see if anything strange happens.” 

Louis cuffs him in the back of the head. Zayn’s too hollow to be angry. 

“Maybe it’ll go away,” Liam says, curling his hand around Zayn’s shoulder, pulling him in until Zayn’s tucked up against his chest. Zayn takes a steadying breath and then another, feeling a bit better. 

“Maybe,” he says. 

_And you can still hear me?_ Niall thinks. Zayn nods without looking up. _Sorry._

“S’alright,” Zayn says. “Not your fault.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Liam says, his fingers digging into Zayn’s side reassuringly while Niall gets an Eagles song he’s never heard before stuck in Zayn’s head. 

**

“I’m sorry,” Perrie says, and it’s fucking horrible because she’s crying like it’s her fault, “but I can’t.”

“Perrie.” Zayn swallows against the lump in his throat. He’s been home for barely twenty-four hours and it feels like he’s gone to hell and back, this whole mess getting worse by the second. 

“Seeing it,” she shakes her head, not quite meeting his eyes, “it’s different than knowing it in general terms.” She rubs her eyes like she’s trying to scrub them clean. “It’s too awful. I -- _we_ can’t build a life from this, Zayn, there’s no way.”

“We could _try_.”

Perrie tilts her head, finally looking at him. There’s pity mixed in with everything else, pity and something worse. Resignation, he thinks. It makes his stomach hurt as he wonders if this is one of those things that was going to come out sooner or later, even without this bullshit power.

“I’ll leave,” he says, “you --”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, laughing wetly. “Jonnie’s on his way, I’ll stay with him tonight. I need some space, you know?”

Zayn nods. He’ll be gone again in the morning anyway, off to bloody Spain or Italy or where the fuck ever.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. Perrie nods, her phone vibrating with a text. She reads it but doesn’t respond.

“He’ll be here in ten.” She takes a deep, shaky breath and Zayn reaches for her instinctively, catching himself at the last second, touching her wrist instead of reeling her in.

“I love you,” he says, needing to tell her at least once more before she goes. 

“I know.” She touches his cheek gently, her thumb sliding over the corner of his mouth. “Me too.”

She stops herself before she leans in. She doesn’t kiss him.

**

At least he’s got the remaining shows to keep him busy. It’s probably better for him than what he wants to be doing, which is wallowing. He’s wallowing here, too, but it’s hard to get fully immersed in it when everyone else is doggedly trying to keep him up.

“But it’ll be a fun experiment!” Liam says.

“For who?” Zayn asks. “Not me when I bash my head on the concrete and have to go to hospital.”

Behind him, Harry snickers. Liam frowns at both of them. 

“But what if you _can_ fly?”

“What if,” Louis holds up one hand, “you can’t fly but you _can_ like, create a forcefield that cushions your fall?”

Zayn stares at them both. For a second he actually considers it, his chest feeling tight with the possibility of it. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Really?” Liam asks.

Zayn makes a face. “No.” 

Liam’s face falls while Louis drops back into his seat, groaning. Harry laughs loudly, clapping Zayn on the shoulder as he goes past. 

“I’m off to find Niall,” he says, “we’re supposed to --”

“He just finished talking to Lou,” Zayn interrupts, reaching for one of the magazines on the table, “he’ll be here any second.”

Sure enough, Niall walks in, whistling. 

“That’s fucking creepy,” Louis says, getting up so he can flick Zayn’s ear. 

“What is?” Niall asks, and then realizes. _Oh, right_. He points his finger at Zayn and winks. 

Liam watches the whole thing wide-eyed and then turns to Zayn, asking, ”But what if you jumped off something shorter?”

“Like the bus!” Louis shouts, and Zayn buries his head in his hands and focuses on Niall’s voice of reason, wondering why anyone would ever want to jump off a fecking bus, would it be moving, how many bones would you break when you fell.

**

Unexpectedly, Zayn feels best onstage. Logically he knows it’s just the distraction of it all, Niall’s running commentary mixing with the thrill of the crowd and whatnot, but he honestly prefers it to the quiet that comes after. He feels like he’s crashing once he’s tucked away on the bus, tired and achy like he’s been on a bender. 

He doesn’t hide it well, he knows, but it’s not like he’s trying to, so. 

That’s the real reason it’s not really a surprise when Liam searches him out. Zayn’s hotel room is dark and probably smells rank as hell but Liam comes in anyway, patting Zayn’s hip as he goes past. 

Zayn watches him for a moment and feels weirdly guilty, like he shouldn’t be holing up like this. He pushes it down, reclaiming his armchair and lighting another cig just for something to do. Liam makes his way through the room slowly, neatening up as he goes. It’s weirdly soothing. 

“Sophia’s flight get in soon?” he asks while Liam straightens the room service tray on the desk.

Liam’s not been talking about her visit much, out of courtesy or whatever, but Liam’s always been easy to read. It makes it easy to be happy for him, at least.

“Not for a few hours yet.” Liam shrugs. “I was thinking of going down to the pool, if you wanted.” He lets the invitation hang for a moment before toeing off his shoes and crawling onto Zayn’s unmade bed. “Didn’t think so. Movie?”

Zayn shrugs, knowing Liam will put one on regardless. Liam picks something and pats the space next to him. It takes another cigarette for Zayn to feel settled enough to lie down. Liam pats his knee when he does, smiling softly at Zayn before turning his attention back to the telly. He keeps his leg bent just right, so that it’s touching Zayn’s, like he wants to reassure him that he’s there.

Zayn doesn’t know why, but it helps.

**

Everyone’s geared up before the second Madrid show, nearly bouncing off the walls with it. The promise of their break looms large, only two shows left. Zayn’s dreading it. No one else is. 

Niall’s been go, go, go all day, had woken Zayn up with his thoughts bleeding through their shared hotel wall. And now it’s even louder, Niall’s voice cutting through Louis and Liam’s latest argument over FIFA. There’s five seconds, maybe six, before that comes to blows and Zayn’s been trying to nap since they got to the stadium but it’s impossible. Especially with Niall’s incessant golf chatter. Zayn can stand most things, but he doesn’t give two shits about the merits of all the tee times the damn club’s offering.

“Can you --” Zayn sits up, leaning over the back of the couch to ask Niall to leave, set up his date in some other room, only Niall’s not there. 

“Sorry,” Liam says, grimacing when Louis gets one last punch in. 

Zayn ignores them both, sighing as he gets up and wanders into the hallway. It’s not really fair to make Niall move because Zayn’s the one whose brain is fucked but he doesn’t care. His head hurts and Niall thinks too much, all hours of the day. 

He finds him outside, leaned against the wall, dicking around on his phone, and for a moment Zayn is so unbelievably annoyed that he wants to slap the phone out of Niall’s hand. Even though he’s just stood there, laughing at Eoghan’s dumbshit texts. 

“Hey,” Niall says. It takes Zayn a minute to realize he’s actually talking to him. “What’s up?”

“Have you been out here long?”

“Dunno,” Niall shrugs, “a bit.”

Zayn stares at him, getting _I was in the hall but the reception was shit so I came out here, it was at least twenty minutes probably, fuck, am I gonna get a sunburn, I didn’t even think_ just as loud as he’d been hearing it inside. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” Zayn says, loud enough that Niall makes a face, thinking, _Jesus_ , and saying, “I’m right here, Malik.”

It’s hard to regulate, is all. Zayn forgets he doesn’t have to talk over something no one else can hear.

“Sorry. I’ll…” He gestures downwind, toward where he’s going. Niall waves him off. 

_Acting like a fucking weirdo_ , he thinks.

“It’s getting stronger,” Zayn blurts out. “I was in the dressing room and I could’ve sworn you were like, right behind me.” Yesterday it’d been he could hear Niall coming down the hall, but this. Fuck. 

_Fuck_ , Niall thinks.

Zayn nods.

**

Niall knocks on his door after the show, smiling wryly when Zayn opens it nearly immediately.

“Heard me coming, did you?”

Zayn shrugs and lets him in. He might’ve heard it anyway, Niall’s door slamming loudly as he left his room.

“I think we should test it out,” Niall says, sitting at the foot of Zayn’s bed. “If it really is getting stronger --”

“It is,” Zayn says forcefully. Niall twists around, squeezing Zayn’s calf reassuringly.

“Right, so we need to figure that shit out now so that we can like, monitor it for the future. In case it keeps getting stronger or some shit.”

“You gonna make a spreadsheet for it?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna save it as superknob so if you ever need to find it, it’ll be right there on me desktop.”

“Aw,” Zayn reaches down to cup his dick, smiling sweetly, “it _is_ super. Thanks, Nialler.”

Niall rolls his eyes before smacking Zayn’s calf sharply. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He’s got a whole plan rocketing around in his brain, too fast for Zayn to parse. 

“I don’t know what you want to do, bro,” Zayn says, not even trying to follow along, “but I’m not going to like, go down to the street in the middle of the night to see if I can still hear you.”

Niall laughs. “No shit.” He chews his lip for a minute, slowing his thoughts down. Zayn tries focusing on the telly instead, seeing if he can block out Niall. It doesn’t work, not entirely, but he does manage to make Niall fade like he’s the background noise. 

“What if,” Niall pokes his side, looking startled when Zayn jumps. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just,” Zayn waves his hand in the air, letting Niall interpret it as tired, zoning out, whatever. “You figure it out?”

“Think so.” Niall nods, his whole face lighting up when he smiles. “We already know it works through walls and shit, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s just like, distance that’s the variable,” Zayn says, pushing himself upright. 

“Exactly. So I’ll go -- “

“You’re going to wander about --”

“I’ll take Preston, tell him I can’t sleep, Christ,” Niall rolls his eyes, pinching Zayn’s leg. “You said you didn’t want to leave your room.”

“I don’t!”

“Well distance means one of us has to go.” _Tosser_.

“Fuck off,” Zayn says, but there’s no heat behind it. He doesn’t want to leave and Niall’s right, to figure it out one of them has to. “Wait. But if you’re gone, how are you going to know if I can hear you? How’ll you know when to come back?”

Niall blinks at him and Zayn feels the dread building in his stomach at how he’s going to have to be the one puttering around the lobby. 

“Text me, you lazy fuck,” Niall says, laughing as he clambers off the bed. _Two days and he forgets how to use a fecking phone._

“It’s been a week, arsehole.” Zayn flips Niall off as he goes, hearing Niall’s laugh echo long after he’s gone down the hall.

He thinks pointless things the whole time, a running stream of _can you hear me now?_ and _that girl’s in the blue dress is fit_ and _I think I’m skipping my session with Mark tomorrow, no, he’ll kill me, that’d be worse, Christ, I’m exhausted. can you hear me, Zayn?_ while Zayn texts him _yes, take a pic, say you’ve got the Spanish flu, y_.

**

“Sorry,” Niall says, sagging against the wall. He slides all the way down until he’s sat on the floor next to Zayn’s chair. Zayn bites his cheek to keep from reminding him there’s a perfectly good chair to his left, and a bed just past that. “I tried, she just --”

“It’s fine, Niall.” The girl had come out of nowhere. Zayn feels a bit bad for laughing at how horribly she’d scared Niall when it happened, his brain going so completely blank with shock that Zayn’d thought they’d found the limit before Niall was back, cursing a blue streak. “Surprised we made it as long as we did, really.”

Niall chuckles, conceding the point. “Still don’t know where she came from,” he says, sounding exhausted. “It was just like,” he flares his palm in front of his face, showing how she was suddenly right there.

Zayn laughs quietly, reaching down to knuckle affectionately at Niall’s head. Niall’s thoughts slow down, like the mere action is making him sleepier. 

“Do you want to crash here?” Zayn offers, watching Niall’s features smooth out. “Plenty of room.”

 _Could do_ , Niall thinks, weighing the options. His room’s not far though, so he sighs before pushing himself up. “Nah,” he says, barely making contact with Zayn’s hand when he tries to high five him. “Thanks, though.”

“Sure.” Zayn locks the door behind him before crawling into bed, flipping on the TV and turning the volume up to drown out the rest of Niall’s thoughts as he falls asleep.

**

“But it’ll be fun.” Harry leans over to shake Zayn’s leg. “It’s the last night!”

“Haz,” Zayn scrubs his palm over his face, feeling exhausted even though he’s done nothing but sleep all day, “there’s a whole leg coming up.”

“In _America_ ,” Harry scoffs, as if their dumb drinking age is going to keep him from going out the entire time they’re in the States. “Zayyyyyn.”

“Harry,” Zayn whines back, fixing him with a stare. Harry grumpily fixes his hat. Zayn knows the lads are worried about him, that they’re each babysitting him in their own, roundabout way. It’s not his fault Harry’s involves a nightclub Zayn is definitely not going to, no matter how big and sad Harry makes his eyes.

“C’mon,” Harry squeezes his knee, “old time’s sake, Zayner.” He wiggles his eyebrows, dimples coming out in full force, and Zayn can feel his resistance cracking the tiniest bit. Harry’s mouth twitches in an effort not to laugh. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the wanker. Zayn narrows his eyes. 

“Nice try,” he says, knocking Harry’s hand off his leg. “Still no.” 

“I almost had you, though,” Harry crows, flopping on top of Zayn, pinning him to the bed. “Admit it!”

“Get off me, Christ.” Zayn shoves at him weakly. “Go shag a bird, I’ll let you tell me about it over breakfast.”

Harry stops trying to tickle him. “That’s a binding agreement,” he says, sitting up. “And Niall heard it.” He points to the other side of the room, where Niall’s been rolling his eyes at them this whole time. “Witness!” 

“Tough luck, Zayn,” Niall says, like Zayn can’t hear him mentally laughing at Zayn’s stupidity. “Come on, Haz, it’s getting late.”

“I’m telling Liam you’re alone,” Harry says, retrieving his hat from where it’s fallen on the floor, “so you’ll probably have to watch _Iron Man_ again, but that’s only because you didn’t come out tonight.” He presses his palm to Zayn’s chest. “So that’s on you, yeah?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall says from the door, mentally whinging about how they were supposed to be gone a half hour ago but Harry wasted their time on a lost cause. Zayn tries not to be insulted. It’s a fair point.

“Yeah,” Harry says, finally getting his arse in gear. He turns back to wink at Zayn. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“After yoga, Harry!” Zayn yells after them, getting ignored save for Niall’s _ohhh, that’s gonna suck_. “HARRY!”

**

Waking up to Niall’s thoughts isn’t much different from waking up to him chatting with Harry on the bus. Zayn’s used to it, even though it’s shit that he can’t like, shout at Niall to shut the fuck up because it’s too bloody early. 

Niall’s more disjointed than usual today, and Zayn feels a pang of sympathy as he stretches, trying to decide if he’s going to try to fall back asleep or not. It’s got to be that Niall’s hungover, the way his thoughts are all jumbled, half-formed. Zayn can’t focus enough to ignore them when they’re fragmented like this, which is the most frustrating part. Maybe Niall’ll fall back to sleep first.

 _Fuck yes_ , Niall thinks, and Zayn feels like the ground’s tilting underneath him as he realizes. He shuts his eyes instinctively, claps his hands over his ears as Niall remembers one of the girls in the club, the solid press of her body, but fuck, that doesn’t shut anything out, everything’s coming through loud and clear, Niall’s thoughts jumping again. He groans and Zayn honestly doesn’t know if he’s hearing it through the wall or if it’s all in his head.

It’s fucked, either way. He’s heard Niall wank loads of times, but this, this is so much worse. 

_Can Zayn hear this, too?_ It’s fleeting, gets swept away immediately, but Zayn loses his traction on Niall’s thoughts because of it. Should he say something? Why is he hearing this now? Has Niall not wanked since this whole thing started or is this fucked-up power getting even stronger?

Zayn’s pulled from his own thoughts when Niall curses, his thoughts cutting through Zayn’s with a startling clarity. It’s enough to make Zayn throw himself out of bed, cramming his feet into his trainers and grabbing a hoodie as he stumbles out the door and into the lift. 

He tries humming to himself, as loud as he can without attracting stares, but he still hears Niall the whole damn time.

**

Harry grins the second he sees Zayn. It’s a relief, really, to sit across from him and listen to the drawn-out story of his and Niall’s night. Zayn focuses on it so hard that he could illustrate it if asked, sketch out a comic right on the tablecloth. 

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Liam says, patting Zayn’s back. “Bit early, innit?”

“He lost a bet,” Harry says.

“Wasn’t a bet,” Zayn scowls, his thoughts cutting to Niall upstairs in his room, a wave of horrible guilt crashing over him. He knows it makes his frown deeper but he can’t help it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “A promise, then.”

“A trade,” Zayn says, trying to ignore everything but Harry and Liam. He makes a face at Harry, getting Liam to laugh and clap him on the shoulder. His hand’s cold from holding his gross protein shake but Zayn leans into it, likes the distraction. 

“Semantics,” Harry says, waving his spoon in the air, “and I honestly think you’re trying to keep me from finishing my story. Where was I?”

“Shots,” Zayn reminds him. He leans toward Liam to fill him in. “He and Niall went out last night. Niall ordered shots. I’ve been down here for forty minutes already.”

“Heyyy,” Harry kicks Zayn’s shin under the table, “it’s been ten minutes.”

Liam laughs and gestures for Harry to go on. Zayn can’t fully shake the weirdness that’s still hanging over him, but it subsides a bit.

It stays that way until he hears Niall coming down to breakfast. 

“You okay?” Liam asks when Zayn’s shoulders go tense. “How’s your hand?”

“What?” Niall’s with Louis, telling him the end of Harry’s story, apparently, where Haz falls out of the car and nearly splits his lip on the sidewalk. He sounds normal, so that’s something. 

“Your hand,” Liam says, reaching over to trace the mark on Zayn’s upturned palm. It’ll scar, Zayn thinks, which is just another reason this whole thing sucks. 

“Oh, dunno. Fine, I guess.” He shrugs while Louis and Niall fill in the empty seats, Niall grinning at Harry while keeping one eye on Zayn like he’s feeling him out. 

“Fun night?” Zayn makes himself ask, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too strained. 

“Oh, yeah, legend,” Niall definitely sounds strained, but Zayn can’t tell if it’s only because he can hear Niall thinking _this is so fucking weird. It’s fine, right?_ so he knows to listen for it. 

“Sounded sick,” Louis says, poking Zayn’s side as he sits next to him. “You should’ve gone, watched Harry fall out of the car.”

“You told him already?” Harry asks Niall, looking wounded.

Niall shrugs, managing to look apologetic as he shovels eggs into his mouth. “Tell your stories faster.”

Zayn snorts into his mug. Niall flushes slightly when he catches Zayn’s eye, thinking _Maybe_ and then changing directions entirely, asking, “How far’d he get?”

“DJ booth.” 

“Oh my god, Harry, that’s like --” Niall shakes his head as Zayn flinches away from Louis’s continued attack, scooting his chair closer to Liam.

“It’s my story,” Harry says, frowning at everyone laughing, “I’ll tell it how I want.”

“Come on, Harry,” Liam says, “on with it.”

 _Maybe I didn’t hear him_ , Niall thinks, his eyes trained on Harry, _maybe he was down here the whole time._

“What?” Zayn can’t help it, his head snapping up. Niall shifts uncomfortably, his mind stunned blank. 

“Nothing!” he says, flushing. His thoughts are just one long, drawn-out _fuuuuck_.

Louis takes advantage of their panic and pinches Zayn’s nipple, beaming when Zayn hisses and turns to glare at him. 

That’s all it takes to break Niall’s paralysis, because by the time Zayn’s turned back, Niall’s claiming he’s got to go call his dad, leaving the room in a hurry. He thinks _nothing nothing nothing_ as he walks out and Zayn tries his hardest not to hear it.

“And then what,” Liam prompts Harry. Louis tries for Zayn’s other nipple, laughing when Zayn knocks his hand away. He keeps doing it, laughing as Zayn gets more and more annoyed, the constant chant of _nothing nothing nothing_ echoing in the recesses of his brain. 

“Fuck’s sake, Louis!” Zayn yells when Louis swings wide, upending a glass of water in Zayn’s lap. He grabs Louis’s arm before he can drop a pile of dirty napkins in Zayn’s lap to sop it up. “Don’t,” he starts, and then his hand is so hot it hurts. He pulls back sharply.

The stick-man on Louis’s arm has fallen off his skateboard, right where Zayn’s hand had been. His tattoo’s completely moved. 

“What the fuck?” Louis stares at his arm. A piece of toast literally falls out of Harry’s mouth. Liam curses under his breath.

“Did it -- what -- are you okay?” Zayn’s palm still feels hot. “Does it hurt?”

“Do it again,” Louis says, holding out his arm. Liam gets out of his seat to see and Zayn -- fuck, he doesn’t know how he did it, doesn’t know how any of this works.

“It’s like, really moved,” Liam says, touching Louis’s skin. “It feels normal, like you’d never know if you hadn’t seen.”

Harry reaches over to touch, too, his breath catching when he slides his fingertips over Louis’s arm. “Wow.”

“Lou,” Zayn says, quieter than he means. 

“It didn’t hurt, I swear.” Louis waves his arm around as proof. His skin’s not even red, it’s just. Wrong. Zayn stares at it, his palm tingling, and belatedly realizes he’s lost Niall in all the commotion. He doesn’t know if he should try to find him or deal with this. It makes his stomach hurt, his breakfast sitting like lead.

“Hey,” Liam touches his back, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles, “he seems fine, yeah?”

“Well, fine as Lou ever is,” Harry says, laughing when Louis flicks a blueberry at him. Zayn blinks, drawing in a deep breath. Niall probably needs time, he tells himself, staring at the sideways skateboarder.

“C’mon, then,” Louis pulls free of Liam’s grasp, thrusting his arm in front of Zayn. “Put it back.”

Zayn tentatively lays his hand on Louis’s forearm and concentrates.

**

It’s a testament to how distracted Zayn is by the whole tattoo thing that he doesn’t notice Niall until he’s just around the corner.

Niall’s thoughts shift abruptly when he sees Zayn, veering immediately into _oh shit I knew I should’ve stayed in Haz’s room_. It fucking sucks, knowing Niall’s avoiding him, specifically. Zayn’s shoulders sag and that makes Niall feel worse, even though he’s not done anything wrong, it’s all Zayn’s fault really. 

Zayn looks at the floor instead of at Niall, feeling it in his gut when Niall sighs quietly. _Feel like I’m fucking starkers_ , Niall thinks, and there’s a marked shift like he’s trying to stop that train of thought.

“We should,” Niall starts, trailing off as he tries to decide if he really wants to broach the subject right here in the fucking hallway or if he’d rather pretend it never happened. Become one of those monks who takes a vow of silence and train his brain to only think in prayers or some shit.

Zayn chews on his lip. “I moved one of Louis’s tattoos,” he says.

Niall sighs. “That’s three then.”

“Yup.” Zayn stares at the wall opposite them. 

_There’s no avoiding it, you have to say it, he can hear every fucking thing anyway._

“Niall,” he says, just as Niall takes a deep breath and says, “You heard, didn’t you? Me, this morning. Before breakfast.”

Zayn nods. “It was just -- I didn’t.” 

Niall slides down against the wall until he’s sitting, head tipped back and his eyes closed as he thinks fanfuckingtastic. 

“I left as soon as I realized,” Zayn says, sinking down to sit next to him. 

“It’s not your fault,” Niall says, and somehow that’s the worst part, because Zayn knows Niall means it, that he hates that it happened, hates this whole fucking situation, but still doesn’t blame Zayn. 

“Maybe the break’ll help,” Niall says. “Like, it could get weaker.” _Or stronger_ , he thinks, wincing when Zayn makes a face. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s,” Zayn waves, his hand hovering over Niall’s knee, pulling back when Niall mentally flinches. “Me too. I didn’t. Fuck, Nialler.”

Niall turns, his head still tipped against the wall when he smiles sadly at Zayn. “At least we have a couple weeks to figure it out, yeah?”

Perrie’s gone and now he can’t really be around one of his best mates. Zayn doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen next. 

“Yeah,” he says shakily, pressing his thumb into the scar on his hand until it hurts. 

**

It’s shit, really, from the minute he and Niall leave the hallway until they get on the plane the next morning. Louis’s staying behind, had offered to let Zayn tag along as he and El fuck about in Portugal for a couple days, but as much as Zayn doesn’t want to go home, he knows he needs to.

“Let me try something?” Zayn asks Liam, watching as Niall pulls up a new playlist on his phone, the music up so loud everyone on the plane can hear it coming through his headphones. 

“Doubt it’ll work, mate,” Liam says, but he gamely pushes up his sleeve so Zayn can try to move the lion hieroglyph on his arm. It doesn’t work, just like it hadn’t yesterday. 

“My turn!” Harry says, sitting right on top of Liam and unbuttoning his shirt. “I think if it’s like, bigger maybe it’ll be easier.”

Liam laughs, making a face that makes Zayn laugh, too. “Might as well, right?”

“I guess.” Zayn shrugs and sets his palm on Harry’s butterfly.

“Boooo,” Harry pouts when nothing happens. “I’m starting to feel unloved, Zayn. Liam is too.”

“Nope,” Liam says.

“Harry.” Zayn looks to where Niall’s curled up in his seat, making a conscious effort to sing along even though he’s exhausted. 

“He’ll be okay.” Harry pats Zayn’s cheek like he’s the bloody mind-reader now. “Some time apart’ll do the trick.” He gets up and heads to the back of the plane, draping himself on top of Niall, wiggling around until he laughs, a genuine burst of happiness. 

“It’ll work out,” Liam says with a quiet confidence. Zayn hums and tries to believe them.

**

Home feels foreign in its emptiness. Zayn doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He spends an entire day sat on his sofa, trying to levitate a glass into his hand. It doesn’t work. He knocks it off the table and watches it shatter. 

He doesn’t feel any better.

After a minute he turns on the telly, leaving it low in the background. He thought he’d be glad for the quiet but it turns out he hates that, too.

 

**the funky buddha and his boy**

Liam ducks behind a tree before he pulls out his phone, sending a quick text to Zayn asking if he’s alright. It’s a stupid question, maybe, and odds are Zayn’s phone’s turned off completely so he won’t get it, but Liam still feels like he should try. 

“Hiding already? They haven’t even cut the cake yet, Payno.” Louis is grinning even though his voice is sharp.

“Just wanted a bit of quiet,” Liam says, tucking his phone back in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thigh. Louis’s mum just got _married_ , he doesn’t need Liam bothering him with useless worrying right now. 

“Well I wanted a smoke but you’re here, stealing all the good hiding spots.” 

“All yours,” Liam says graciously, but Louis follows him back to the tables.

“I’m sure,” Louis coughs, stopping just at the lip of the crowds, “I’m sure it was just too much, you know?”

“Have you heard from him?” 

“No, but,” Louis frowns, “I mean. With everything it’s like…” 

Liam nods. He’d felt like someone’d punched him when he saw Perrie’s name on the place card; he can’t imagine how it would’ve gone if Zayn’d shown up alone. The papers had a field day when he didn’t go home for her party; this would’ve been at least ten times worse.

“Hate to break this up, lads,” Niall slings an arm around each of their shoulders, “but someone needs you for pictures, Tommo.”

“Again?” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes before he beats it. 

“That looked intense,” Niall says.

Liam shrugs. “Just talking.”

“About Zayn?” It’s not really a question, the way Niall says it.

“Have you heard from him?” Liam asks. Niall’s mouth gets weirdly pinched, like Liam’s an interviewer asking a shit question. “Not like that, I didn’t mean --”

“No, I know,” Niall says. “I haven’t.”

**

Zayn’s radio silence is far from unusual, it’s just that this time it’s worse, knowing Zayn’s holed up and sulking. Liam gives him a solid week before he gets frustrated enough to drive over.

“I’ll let myself in,” he threatens, leaning heavy on the buzzer at Zayn’s gate. He’s done it before. It’d probably be easier now, when he’s stone sober. Zayn caves before it comes to that.

“Look at that,” Liam says, feigning surprise when Zayn opens his front door, “you’re _not_ dead!”

“Yay,” Zayn says flatly. “Please leave.”

Liam ignores him. Once he’s inside he feels like his mum must feel whenever she makes a surprise stop by his flat and it’s a disaster. Zayn’s house is disgusting, the shades drawn, telly on full volume, the whole place smelling of weed and sweat. 

“Is that glass?” Liam peers at the floor, trying to reach the remote.

“I broke a glass,” Zayn says, going the other way around the coffee table, dragging a blanket over his shoulders as he sits back down. “Careful where you step.”

He looks and sounds so miserable that Liam feels like shit for not forcing his way in sooner. Zayn usually craves space but this. This can’t have been healthy. Liam tiptoes around the wreckage so he can sit down, tentatively pulling Zayn closer to him. 

“You should’ve called me,” Liam says, even though he knows it’s a useless thing to say. Still. Seeing Zayn like this makes him want to cry a bit, it’s so upsetting, especially when Zayn takes a shuddery breath, his face turned into Liam’s shoulder.

“Alright.” Liam pets his hair gently, trying to sound calm while Zayn reins himself back in. “I’ll make you a trade: you shower, I’ll straighten up, and then after I’ll show you what’s in this.”

He points to the notebook he’d brought with him, dropped on top of one of the many ashtrays on Zayn’s coffee table. 

“What if I don’t want to see it?” Zayn asks hollowly.

“Mate, I watched seventeen Marvel movies before I came over here, I think you’ll want to see.”

**

Zayn at least _looks_ a million times better when he gets out of the shower.

“Pizza’s on the way,” Liam tells him, bending to pick up a stack of dirty dishes so he won’t pull Zayn into another hug. “I’ll finish the washing up and then --”

Zayn waves him off, seeming distracted. Which is allowed, Liam supposes. He was a right mess when they were in South America and that -- that was shit, but it’s nothing compared to what Zayn’s going through. 

He gets bogged down by his own thoughts, is still washing dishes when Zayn comes in.

“I’ve got a dishwasher, you know,” he says, pointing to it. 

“Thought this’d be quicker.” Liam shrugs. Mostly he knows the clean plates would end up sitting in the dishwasher for ages, probably until they get back from America, or at least until Zayn’s mum comes to visit, and it seemed easier to wash and dry them now, get everything put away just in case. 

It’s weird, Zayn watching him so closely while he finishes up. Liam’s got a million questions he wants to ask -- how Zayn’s feeling, if he’s heard from Perrie, if he can still hear Niall, if anything new’s happened, can he move things with his mind or open doors just thinking about it -- but he knows it’d be too much. They’ll get there eventually. He stays as quiet as he can, humming under his breath for a distraction and sneaking looks at Zayn, sat at the island.

“So like,” Zayn says eventually, startling Liam so much that he drops a cup into the sink, water splashing everywhere. Zayn laughs at him, pulling Liam’s notebook up and setting it on the island. “Did _Iron Man_ have any real insight or did you just watch that for fun?” 

“I thought you were checking your phone,” Liam says, his ears going red. He only meant for Zayn to see the relevant notes, not like, all of them. “And both. There’s like, sciencey bits.”

Zayn laughs again, his eyes crinkling, and Liam’s relieved just to see him look like himself. He finishes the rest of the dishes in a hurry, leaving them out to dry, making a mental note to put them away before he leaves.

“None of them really helped,” he tells Zayn, sitting next to him and pulling his notebook closer, flipping forward a few pages. “Like, the closest to what you’ve got is _X-Men_ , right? Only yours isn’t -- like, you can hear Niall, but he can’t hear you?”

“Right,” Zayn says, finger trailing over the edge of the page as he reads what Liam’s written about Professor X.

“But then, with everything else, like with Louis and, uh --” Liam coughs.

“Pez.” 

“Yeah, both those are like, completely different from the telepathy.”

Zayn huffs a laugh and Liam flushes.

“That’s what it is, though, like,” Liam scratches the back of his neck and tries to find the right words. He flips to the last page he’d written on instead, where he’s made a chart, people’s initials in one column and Zayn’s power in the next.

“Did you use a ruler?” Zayn laughs and then stops when he notices Liam frowning. “No, like, it’s -- this is wicked, Liam, really.”

Liam laughs because it’s not, it’s mostly useless and they both know it, but. “I left the rest blank, like. I dunno, just in case.” Zayn nods slowly. “Not because I _want_ something to happen, Harry’s wrong, I’m not feeling left out, but it’s,” he shrugs, thinking of all the movies he watched, “it doesn’t seem like it’d be just these three and then done, you know?”

Zayn’s quiet for a real long time, so long that Liam’s about to get up and finish putting away the plates when Zayn says, “My mum.”

Liam blinks, confused. Zayn shifts, clearing his throat. He doesn’t look at Liam.

“I went home for a few days, that’s why I wasn’t at the wedding, I needed to like, explain to my family what’d happened.” He winces, like saying it physically hurts. “I was a mess. Emotionally, like. I had to leave because it was too much. It was such a rollercoaster, one second I’d be laughing with my sister and then I’d be crying because my mum was crying and --” he stops himself, laughing bitterly. “I sound cracked, don’t I?”

“No,” Liam says immediately, even though he doesn’t really understand. 

“Maybe it was just everything hitting me finally.” Zayn shrugs, sighing as he looks over the list one last time. “I’m going for a smoke.” He pushes back from the table and Liam knows that’s the end of the discussion even though he’s got even more questions than when he sat down. “You want one?”

“Nah,” Liam shakes his head, gesturing to the dishes, “I’ll finish up in there, dinner should be here soon. We could watch a film?”

“Yeah, whatever you like. Just not _X-Men_ ,” Zayn yells over his shoulder.

“Good because I just watched it yesterday,” Liam calls back, relieved when Zayn’s laugh echoes through the house.

**

Liam’s dead on his feet when he gets back from Zayn’s. Maybe that’s why googling things like “feeling feelings” isn’t turning up any results that aren’t self-help books.

It technically could wait ‘til morning, but Liam’s got that feeling like he’s writing a song, everything right on the tip of his tongue and the urge to just get it out. He doesn’t call Louis, because it’s too late and he’s home, spending time with his siblings, but Harry’s in LA and Liam’s too tired for the maths but he knows it’s probably close to daytime there. 

“Liam!” Harry answers almost immediately, the hum of his motorbike loud in the background. “Is this another drunk dial?”

“No,” Liam says, ignoring Harry’s loud boos, “listen, what’s that word for when you can feel someone’s emotions?”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not pissed?” Harry laughs and then the bike noises stop, Harry’s voice sounding clearer. “Is it -- you know, did something new happen? Is he okay?”

He’s got to be around paparazzi, the way he’s carefully not saying anything. 

“He’s fine,” Liam says, “messed up but like, he looked better when I left, so that’s good.”

Liam can practically feel Harry’s sigh of relief. “Empathy,” he says. “Is that what you’re thinking of?”

“Maybe. Like, feeding off people’s emotions?”

“I dunno, Liam.” Harry sounds far away, lost in his own thoughts. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Haz, it’s just late, I couldn’t think. Was easier to call. I’ll see you next week.”

“Keep me posted,” Harry says, and Liam promises to before he rings off. 

Before he goes to bed he adds a new row to the chart in his notebook, _fam_ and then _EMPATHY??_. 

**

“You’re back,” Zayn says, making a face. 

Liam makes one back. “You’re still here.”

They’ve not got much time before they leave for America and Zayn looks, well, better than when Liam first found him, at least, but worse off than when he’d left. 

“Did you leave the house since the last time I was here?” The place isn’t what Liam would classify as tidy, really, but it’s not the war zone it had been. “Smells like you’ve opened a window in the last twenty-four hours, so that’s something, innit?”

Zayn flips him off, grinning widely. 

“What’s it this time, Liam?” Zayn bends to scoop up the cat rubbing figure-eights around his ankles. It’s the new one, the one he and Pez’d got right before. Liam’s not even sure of its name. “You watched all the DC movies, got new insight into my powers?”

“Fuck off.” Liam punches Zayn’s arm just hard enough to make him scowl. “See if I make you dinner now.”

“You’re going to make dinner?” Zayn’s face goes all soft and hopeful.

“Depends,” Liam grumbles, scratching the cat’s ears, “have you got any food here?”

Zayn shrugs, genuinely unsure. “Maybe. Mum stopped by a few days back, I think maybe she brought some things.”

“You think?”

The cat jumps to the floor. “Was busy, you know.” Zayn moves his hand by his hip and Liam frowns because no, he doesn’t know. “She’s worried about me or summat and it’s like, it makes it hard to be around her for a long time. Messes me up.”

“So it’s still --”

“Yeah, I guess.” Zayn scratches his beard. He looks all out of sorts, the same way Liam feels, and it makes sense. Liam would be messed up about it too, if he could feel other people’s emotions like that. Harry’d sent him a link, some hippie guru website that hadn’t said much about like, superpowers but had sort of explained the basics of it. Sympathy or whatever it was called. Liam’s got a print-out of it. 

“About that,” Liam says, getting interrupted by Zayn’s phone. 

Zayn checks it, holding up his finger to signal one minute before he answers, ducking into the next room so all Liam hears is, “Hey, Louis.”

It’s as good a time as any to see what food Zayn’s mum dropped off, so Liam heads for the kitchen.

**

“Zayn,” Liam sing-songs, wandering through the halls feeling like he’s playing hide-and-seek. Zayn’s been gone for ages it feels like, long enough that Liam’s made fajitas and had a good long chat with Sophia. “Dinner’s ready.”

His phone buzzes with a pic from Sophia, her and Loki cuddled up on the couch. It makes Liam want to ditch Zayn. He settles for making it his lockscreen, feeling like a wanker for grinning so hard at it.

There’s light coming from under Zayn’s bedroom door; Liam knocks before pushing it open. Zayn looks up like he’s been shot, his eyes red and swollen like he’s been -- oh fuck, like he’s been in here crying while Liam’s been planning a lie-in. 

“Are you alright?” Liam asks, crouching down next to him.

“I’m good.” Zayn takes a deep breath. When he looks up, he’s smiling. Liam’s seen enough of Zayn’s fake smiles to know the difference; this one’s genuine and that’s -- it’s fucking creepy. He was miserable half a second ago. 

“Zayn,” Liam says, because there’s no need to like, put up a front. He rubs Zayn’s knee, aiming for reassuring. 

Zayn’s face changes minutely, his smile going softer, and he says, “No, I’m really good.” He touches his chest and takes a deep breath, his eyes closed like he’s doing one of Harry’s yoga breathing tricks. 

“I think it’s you,” he says, so quietly Liam almost doesn’t hear it. 

“What’s me?” 

Zayn moves his hand from his chest to Liam’s arm and takes another breath, nodding to himself. Liam doesn’t feel anything but the lines on Zayn’s face smooth out and it suddenly clicks, how Zayn’d gone from crying to happy in a heartbeat when Liam found him.

“Like,” Liam feels like he could fall over, even though he’s sitting down, “with your mum?”

Zayn nods again, his hand curling tighter around Liam’s bicep. “Harry’s gonna be so pissed,” he says, laughing.

**

“Oi,” Louis’s hand connects with the back of Liam’s skull, knocking his snapback off and making him miss the net in FIFA, “Are these lyrics? Have you been holding out on me?” 

“I don’t know,” Liam says, trying to shove whatever Louis’s dangling in his face out of the way, “maybe, _Louis_ , you’re making me lose.”

“Gotta handicap you somehow. Zayn’s playing through Niall’s thoughts.”

“Niall’s listening to music,” Zayn says, his whole body shifting as he dribbles past one of Liam’s defenders, doing some brilliant move Liam didn’t even know was possible. “I’m fine.” He scores, biting his lip as he smiles, eyes cutting to where Niall’s sat in the corner, headphones on, watching them play.

“There is some next level cheating going on here,” Liam says when Niall turns sharply, trying to pretend like he wasn’t staring at the TV.

Zayn shrugs, daring Liam to prove it. He’s been in a good mood since they boarded the plane in Heathrow and Liam knows it’s not because Zayn’s thrilled to be on the road again. That it’s all because Liam’s excited for the start of this leg. It’s a good thing, he supposes, that he can like, drag Zayn out of the depths of his shit moods or whatever, but it’s weird and makes Liam’s head hurt if he thinks too hard about it. 

“These aren’t lyrics,” Louis says. “ _Man of Steel_ : alien, long, useless. _Young Justice_ ,” he pauses as he reads Liam’s notes, “oh, look, useless again. Are you becoming a film critic? Did you start a movie blog over the break?”

“That’s not -- how did you get that?” Liam reaches over the back of the sofa but Louis dances out of reach.

“It was in your bag. You said I could,” he says, hand out like he’s worried Liam might charge. “‘ _Batman_ : rich, useless.’ You need to use more creative words, mate, come on. And why’ve you written ‘secret lair’ with question marks?”

“Sick, bro,” Zayn laughs, “I’ll convert the guest room.”

“I told you,” Liam falls over the back of the sofa, ignoring Niall’s applause when he turns it into a forward roll that nearly takes Louis out. He gets his hand on Louis’s joggers and tries to pull him off-balance without getting up. “I was helping Zayn.”

“Was that before or after you started feeling him?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows and Liam sees his window, shifting his weight so he knocks Louis’s knees, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Who’s feeling who?” Harry asks, letting himself into Liam’s suite. He’s still got his hat and sunglasses on. His flight must’ve just gotten in. Or he’s just back from dinner with Ben or some such. Anything’s possible. 

“Zayn and Liam,” Niall says, stealing Liam’s abandoned game controller and his spot on the sofa. 

“What?” Harry asks.

“Oh my god, Liam, did you make a _chart_?”

“Game on, Malik,” Niall says, unpausing the game only to pause it immediately. Liam watches Niall go still from where he’s kneeling on Louis’s back, pinning him to the carpet. The real problem is the notebook’s underneath Louis.

“What?” Harry asks again, louder, looking from Liam to Zayn.

“If we play, are you going to be able to anticipate all my moves and beat me?” Niall asks Zayn. “Or will we be locked in a stalemate because I’m better than you, but you’ll still know what I’m gonna do?”

The whole room goes quiet for a moment as they all think about it. Even Louis freezes for a solid ten seconds. 

“Dunno,” Zayn says eventually. “And fuck you, you’re not better than me.”

“He is,” Louis yells, his voice muffled. Liam pinches his side, trying to worm his hand under Louis completely.

Zayn turns around to flip him off. He grins at Liam and Harry makes a funny noise that has Zayn turning all the way back around.

“I can absorb his emotions,” Zayn says, “like how I can hear what Niall’s thinking, only they become my emotions, sort of? It’s weird.”

“Seems a bit shit to me,” Louis says. 

“ _That’s_ why you called me?” Harry turns to Liam. “You said it was nothing!?”

“I didn’t know _then_ ,” Liam says. “It was --”

“My mum,” Zayn finishes, “my whole family.”

“See,” Louis twists, wiggling Liam’s notebook out and holding it up. “They’re in the chart, too.”

“Hmmm.” Harry squints at where Louis’s pointing. He’s quiet for a moment like he’s processing it, but then inhales and nods, shuffling closer to Zayn. “Try me.”

“Don’t think it’s gonna work, Haz,” Niall says, but Zayn’s already gamely holding out his hand. Liam thinks he means for Harry to like, hold it back, but Harry just grabs Zayn’s wrist and slaps his open palm over Harry’s heart.

“Easy access,” Louis snorts, chin jerking to Harry’s already-unbuttoned shirt. Liam chuckles, sliding off Louis and taking his notebook back. The pages aren’t terribly wrinkled, which is a pleasant surprise.

“Has anyone seen --” Paul’s entering as he knocks, stopping when his eyes land on Harry. He doesn’t so much as flinch at Harry holding Zayn’s hand to his bare chest. “Oh, good, you’re here. Soundcheck’s three tomorrow, let’s not start this leg off with someone being forty-five minutes late, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Paul,” Niall says, while everyone else half-heartedly agrees, Harry adding, “We’ll do our best.”

Paul stares at him for a long minute, Harry blinking innocently. “Three,” he says, and then leaves.

“Anything?” Harry asks Zayn.

“Did you oil your chest?” Zayn wrinkles his nose, pulling his hand away and wiping it on Harry’s shirt. 

“It’s suncream, you wanker,” Harry says, slipping into the space between Niall and Zayn, his whole body stretched across their laps.

“Sorry,” Zayn says quietly, patting Harry’s thigh while Niall finally restarts the game. Liam tucks his notebook back in his bag and makes an effort to think of only good things. He doesn’t think Zayn’s like, especially sad, but. It couldn’t hurt.

**

Liam bounces on the balls of his feet before jogging up the ramp, letting the noise of the crowd sink in. They seem louder here, impossibly loud. It’s insane, how every city is better than the last. It makes his heart feel heavy, so full it could punch right out of his chest. 

He meets Zayn’s eye across the stage, laughing when he catches Zayn grinning and swiveling his hips to the song. Liam does it back, adds a shimmy that Zayn mimics. It’s the happiest he’s seen Zayn on stage in _years_. Liam can’t help but be proud, like all his hard work is paying off twofold. Zayn’s happy because he’s happy which makes Liam even happier and it could go on forever like this, stretching out into infinity if he keeps it up.

He times it just right, leaping onto the mainstage with the guitar riff. He lands nearer to Zayn, both of them two-stepping the last few meters until they’re close enough to talk.

“Alright?” Liam asks. Zayn’s eyes are bright. He turns, looking to where Niall’s stood, shaking his head at Niall’s thought. Liam knocks his knuckles against Zayn’s stomach to get his attention back. “Alright?”

“Bro,” Zayn says, so giddy he’s nearly breathless. He shoves Liam lightly and Liam doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Zayn’s onto him, knows exactly what Liam’s doing out here. 

He laughs, slinging his arm around Zayn’s neck so they can head down the catwalk, pressed so close together he can feel Zayn laughing with every step.

 

**the voyage of the doncaster treader**

“Jesus,” Niall says, pushing past Louis to jump on Liam’s back, “Payno, was that _you_?”

Liam looks to Zayn for confirmation, like he’s fucking unsure if he’s the one responsible for Zayn’s good mood onstage. As if maybe Zayn had gotten fucked, adopted sixteen kittens, and found out he was going on a two month holiday in the time it took them to get from the dressing room to the stage.

“Yeah,” Liam says, after Zayn nods, “I guess.”

“Sick.” Niall slides off Liam when they reach the dressing room, drumming on his shoulders like he’s feeding of Liam’s brilliant mood, too.

“It’s different, Ni,” Zayn says, presumably in response to some shit Niall’s thinking. “It’s not like, better or worse.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Sure it is. Liam getting you to move about the stage is loads better than being forced to hear Niall think all the time.”

“Louis,” Liam says, sounding insulted. Which is stupid because Louis’s just said _his_ is the winner. Christ.

“Fuck you.” Niall laughs as he punches Louis slightly harder than usual. Zayn doesn’t say anything, stood there with his mic pack in his hand, his eyes following Harry as he slips out the door, mumbling something about heading back to the hotel straightaway. Louis rolls his eyes again. So Harry doesn’t get a superpower, big deal. It’s not like Louis’s is anything to write home about.

“Hey, Liam,” Niall’s spinning Liam in a circle by his arm, leading him towards Louis like he’s going to make Liam put his dumb sweaty hand all over Louis’s torso, “can you make Lou have more stage presence, too?”

Even Zayn laughs. Louis shoves Liam’s hand out of his face with more force than is strictly necessary. Liam doesn’t flinch but Niall does, and then Zayn gets that look he’s started to get whenever Niall thinks something Zayn doesn’t like, and --

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis says, turning on his heel. Maybe Harry had the right idea, getting out of here as soon as possible.

He hears Zayn sigh but no one follows him, so that’s great. It’s fucking great.

**

Louis pretends to be asleep when he hears Zayn finally shuffles onto the bus. Him and Niall worked out some deal that they won’t both stay in the same place so Zayn can get some bloody rest. Louis doesn’t really see the big deal about it; Zayn’s always slept on the bus more often than not anyway.

“Lou,” Zayn says, quiet like he doesn’t want to wake Louis if he’s sleeping. Louis stays still, his phone clutched to his chest so the light won’t give him away. He’s still frozen when Zayn yanks the curtain open. “Knew you were awake,” he says, chuckling at Louis’s startled face. “You’re never that quiet when you’re sleeping.”

“I’m talking to Eleanor,” Louis says, gesturing to his phone. He’d been playing a game, but that’s basically the same. He was planning on texting El any minute now.

Zayn rests his chin on Louis’s bunk. “Louis.” He touches Louis’s arm, his brow furrowed, and the Pac-Man eats the dots. Louis laughs in spite of himself. 

“Gonna smoke, if you want,” Zayn offers.

Louis does, but he wants to be alone more. He shakes his head and Zayn shrugs, tapping Louis’s arm. The Pac-Man goes back to normal.

“You’re getting better at that,” Louis says. They’d tested it a bunch in those last few days of the last leg, Louis trying to hold still while Zayn dragged his ink around. It hadn’t happened as easily as this. Louis wonders if he practiced somehow. If it works for anyone else, like how he can feel Liam and his parents. Zayn would’ve mentioned if it did, right?

“The little ones are easier.” Zayn stays still for a minutes; Louis holds his breath, waiting for whatever he’s about to say. It never comes. Zayn sighs. “Tell El I say hello,” he says, patting the edge of the bunk before disappearing into the back lounge. 

Louis holds his arm up to his face, trying to see if anything’s out of place, but it’s not. Zayn’s put the Pac-Man back exactly right.

“Wait,” Louis calls out, “I’ve changed my mind.” He rolls himself out of the bunk, padding after Zayn. Maybe some green is exactly what his shit mood needs. It’s not like he’s falling asleep any time soon. “Think we should try to get the airplane to move this time.”

**

“This is all from the minibar, Haz, why would you think there’s mint leaves up here? Jesus.” Niall sounds like he’s regretting offering up his room as the gathering place before they all go out, the five of them headed to the same club like they haven’t done in ages. 

“This isn’t --”

“Put some toothpaste in it,” Niall suggests, laughing when Harry makes a sad face and takes a drink anyway. “Atta boy. Here you go, Tommo.” Niall offers Louis a fresh drink, making him lean most of the way off the sofa to get it.

“Oi,” Liam says, when Louis accidentally knees him in the side. “Careful.

“Take up less room, then,” Louis says. Liam and Zayn are sat practically on top of each other and they’re still somehow managing to take up more than half the sofa. 

Louis peers over Liam’s shoulder to read what he’s texting Sophia, wondering if it’s dirty or their more of their usual lovey-dovey shite. “Does Zayn get stiffies when you do?”

“Louis!” Liam drops his phone, going bright red. Zayn looks equal parts mortified and livid. Louis cackles. He wishes his phone weren’t charging because he’d kill for a picture of this moment. 

“Huh,” Harry says. “Do you? It would make sense if you do, right? Because if it’s --”

“I’m going to get more ice!” Niall grabs the bucket and heads for the door, the back of his neck is almost as red as Liam’s face.

“Right?” Harry nudges Louis’s shoulder.

“What?” Louis asks. He’s not heard a word Harry was saying; Zayn’s face is _priceless_. Christ, he really needs a pic. “Liam, give me your phone.”

“What?” Liam’s voice is high, which makes it even funnier. “No. Louis! I said no!”

He tries to push Louis away with one hand, his phone hidden behind him in the other. Louis almost has it, is kneeling on Liam’s lap, laughing and shoving his hand in Liam’s face to distract him, when Zayn calmly leans over and gives him a dead leg.

“Fuuuuuck,” Louis groans, sliding to the floor. Zayn smirks down at him, laughing when Louis flips him off.

“But do you?” Harry asks, making Zayn sigh.

“I don’t know, Harry. I guess I’m lucky Liam doesn’t make a habit of sexting while I’m in the room.”

“Unlike _some_ people,” Liam says pointedly, but Louis isn’t sure who it’s aimed at. All three of them, most likely, but Louis kicks Liam in the shin just in case.

“I think we should do an experiment!” Harry says and Zayn covers his face with his hands as he inhales deeply.

“Is he trying to become invisible?” Louis stage whispers.

“That’s it,” Zayn announces loudly, his eyes still covered, “I’m not going.”

**

Zayn goes, of course. He isn’t even complaining halfheartedly by the time they’re all headed for the car. Louis doesn’t know how much is because of Liam and how much is because Niall came back and immediately insisted they all do shots, but whatever. It’s working.

“I’ve got a good feeling about tonight,” Harry says, tripping into the back row of seats. “Long as you don’t ditch me like last time.”

“Fuck you, I’m a great wingman,” Niall says. “Get you all tens all the time.”

“What’s Canadian for ten?” Liam asks and Louis has a flash of regret. Maybe they should’ve had the shots _or_ the spliff, not both. Maybe both was a terrible idea. “It’s just ten, right?” 

Liam looks to Zayn for help but Zayn’s not paying attention, his head tipped back over the seat, looking drunk and happier than Louis’s seen him in ages. He stares at Harry like he can barely process what Harry’s asked, blinking hard before he laughs.

“You’re going to make some girl very happy tonight, Haz,” Zayn says seriously.

Harry leans forward to pet Zayn’s cheek. “I always do.”

**

“Him, with the hat,” Louis says, some of his drink spilling over his fingers as he points to the dance floor. He licks it off while Zayn presses his lips together in concentration.

“Nothing,” he says after a minute. He makes a face, shrugging. “I don’t think it’s gonna work, Lou.”

“That’s bollocks!” Louis yells, grabbing at Zayn’s shoulders and shaking him. Some of his drink spills on Zayn, too, but Zayn’s too drunk to notice. 

“I didn’t make --” Zayn gets distracted mid-sentence, probably by whatever Niall’s thinking. Only Zayn’s staring at something over Louis’s shoulder, not into the middle distance like he does when Niall’s got him torn up over something.

Louis turns around. All he sees is Harry, waiting by the door, a girl tucked up against his side. So, not Niall, then.

“Jealous?” He elbows Zayn, one eyebrow raised up. Harry and his girl duck out the door, five deliberate steps apart. “Has it been _that_ long, Malik?”

“Fuck off.” It comes out hollow, which makes Louis feel like a twat even though he’d meant it as a joke. He knows exactly how long it’s been, how everything’s blown up and Zayn’s just been left stood in the rubble. Louis reaches for the nearest glass left on the table and knocks it back without thinking, letting the burn of the alcohol overpower the shit feeling building in his stomach. He holds a second glass out for Zayn.

“You ready to get out of here?” Louis asks, already signaling that they want a car brought around. “Sorry,” he adds, because he is. 

“No, it’s --” Zayn’s still staring at the doors. He polishes off the drink Louis handed him and then shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “It’s fine,” he says, letting Louis pull him into a one-armed hug before they start to make their way to the exit. 

**

Louis wakes up on the bus lounge floor, his alarm going off somewhere nearby. It’s so startling that he bolts upright and _then_ realizes he’s got a hangover the size of Britain. 

“Stop,” he tells his phone, which he can’t actually find because it’s not within arm’s reach and moving seems like the worst idea. He feels about slowly, trying to keep his body as still as possible. 

He finds it near his hip and there’s a second of blissful silence before Zayn pushes himself up onto his forearms, glaring at Louis over the edge of the sofa. He looks like Louis feels, so at least there’s that. “Shut it off.”

“I just did,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. Even that hurts. Christ. Did they come back here and drink more? They must’ve. There’s cups on the floor and an ashtray all the way by Zayn’s feet. 

“I’m dying, Zayn,” Louis says as Zayn curls in on himself, already heading back to sleep. Zayn grunts something that could be “okay” or could be “sucks to be you, Tommo.” 

But Louis is awake now, and too aware of everything horrible happening to his body; Zayn should be miserable with him. It only seems fair, since he’s half responsible for all this. He’s fifty percent to blame for Louis’s mouth tasting like something’s died in it. 

“Zayn. Zayn,” he says, as pitifully as possible. He waits until Zayn cracks open one eye to say, “I’ll give you five hundred pounds if you get me a gatorade right now.”

“Give you a thousand to shut up,” Zayn counters, keeping his four year streak of not caving to Louis’s hungover requests alive. Which, fine, whatever. Louis’ll manage by himself and then he won’t share a single sip of it. 

He doesn’t get very far, though, his head feeling like it’s going to split open when he tries to stand. 

“Zayn,” he whines, lying back down close enough that he can poke at Zayn’s arm, “help.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn says, catching Louis’s arm and holding it still. 

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis says back. Zayn sighs.

“Zap,” he says, patting Louis’s arm with his free hand same as he’s always done when Louis is whinging, “you’re fine.”

And just like that, Louis is. It’s terrifying. 

“Um. Did you just?” He sits up, shocked by how he suddenly doesn’t feel like his body’s going to separate from his skeleton. Zayn’s staring at his hand, his scar looking angrier than usual. 

“Are you --”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis says. “Honest. Are you?” 

“What?” Zayn looks up, confused. “Yeah, I’m fine. Feel like shit, but…”

“Right. It doesn’t work on yourself?” Louis narrows his eyes when Zayn shakes his head. “Have you tried?”

Zayn rolls his eyes before touching his palm to his forehead. “Zap, I’m not dying,” he says flatly. 

Louis huffs. “I was just asking.”

“Zayn?” Harry yells from the front of the bus. “Are you awake?”

“Well he is _now_ , isn’t he?” Louis calls back, feeling bad when Zayn winces, struggling to sit up. 

“Sorry,” Harry says when he makes it to the lounge. He’s got bottles of water for both of them. “Zayn was texting like a stroke victim at half three, I figured I should check that you weren’t completely dead before the flight.”

“So you... decided to make as much noise as possible?” Louis asks, chuckling when Harry frowns.

“I was being nice,” he says.

“A stroke? What?” Zayn’s a beat behind them. Harry laughs and passes his phone over as proof.

“You can be nice _and_ quiet, you know,” Louis says. Harry looks at him strangely but refuses to take the bait. 

“I dunno, Haz.” Zayn hands the phone to Louis with a sigh before lying back down and pulling the blanket up over his head. 

The text in question is pure gibberish, a mess of autocorrect and unintelligible typos. Louis snorts. The timestamp on it is right around from the time they’d left the club. Louis vaguely remembers Zayn being so keyed up he was practically vibrating in the back of the car, the way he’d been watching Harry leave right before they’d bailed.

“I think he wanted to shag your girl?” Louis shrugs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I don’t know, either.”

Zayn snakes his hand out from under the blanket to flip Louis off. Harry looks from Louis to Zayn and then back again. He narrows his eyes at Louis.

“Are you still drunk?” 

Louis grins widely while Zayn slowly pushes the blanket off his face like he’s bracing for what comes next. Harry looks mildly frightened, which just makes it sweeter.

“It turns out our Zayn can cure hangovers now, too,” Louis says, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders and smiling down at Zayn’s sullen form. “He’s a regular Jesus.”

**

“So wait,” Liam says, “it was just gone?”

Louis snaps his fingers. “Like that.”

“I guess,” Zayn says, looking across the aisle at Niall. 

Harry pokes Niall in the side. “Sorry,” Niall says. “I was thinking that it’s convenient, is all. That’s like, the best one yet, Tommo.”

“Write that down in your chart, Liam,” Louis tells him, “I’m the best.”

“Think that makes Zayn the best, technically,” Liam says, smiling softly at Zayn, who still looks a bit peaky. The flight can’t be helping his hangover. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Minor details.” Louis waves his hand and watches as Liam adds something to his notebook, Zayn leaned into his side like he’s trying to leech some of Liam’s energy. Which he probably is, Louis realizes.

“Do you think it’s like,” Harry coughs, shifting in his seat. He’d been stunned when Louis had told him on the bus, stared at Zayn like he was sure it was some dumb prank. “I don’t know how to explain it, but we knew he could move your tattoos, yeah? But maybe that was just the superficial aspect of it and Zayn can like, manipulate --”

“Jesus,” Niall says, “I feel like I’m in science class all over again.”

“I just wrote down ‘healing,’” Liam says, pointing with his pencil.

Louis touches stick-man on his arm, remembering the first time Zayn had moved it. He hadn’t felt anything at all. Just like he hadn’t felt anything this morning. It hadn’t felt like Zayn was manipulating anything.

“Makes sense, Haz,” Zayn says quietly. He looks at Niall after, for so long that Louis thinks about clearing his throat, reminding them that there are other people on this plane, too, but Zayn nods before Louis can get to it, and when Louis looks over, Niall’s turned to the window, his eyes closed like he’s angling for a kip. 

Louis shrugs and leans forward in his seat so he can snatch Liam’s notebook. He’ll pencil in BEST on his own if he has to.

**

Between the late nights and airplanes, it’s not a surprise when Louis boards the bus in search of Liam only to find Harry coughing pathetically, his hands curled round a mug of tea. 

He feels Harry’s forehead with the back of his hand, sighing when Harry leans into his touch. 

“I’ll be fine tomorrow,” Harry says, sounding like there’s a whole family of frogs in his throat. 

“Oh, Hazza.” He’s about to convince Harry to head back to his bunk for some rest when Niall comes out of the toilet, shaking a bottle of pills at Harry.

“Knew they were somewhere,” he says, tossing them over. Harry makes no move to catch them so Louis does, shaking two tablets out and pressing them into Harry’s hand. 

“Hey,” Zayn says from the doorway. Louis jumps, surprised. Zayn’d been asleep when Louis left and that was like, ten minutes ago. “Heard you were poorly,” his eyes cut to Niall as he walks towards them and oh, that makes sense then, “thought maybe I could try?”

He holds his hand up, a flash of his scar before he curls his hand into a fist at his side. He looks uncertain.

“But you can’t move his tattoos,” Louis says, remembering what Harry’d said on the plane, about Zayn’s powers being fundamental or elemental or whatever. Zayn’s glare makes him feel like a complete knob.

“I can still _try_.” Zayn’s face softens when he turns from Louis to Harry. “Yeah?”

Harry shrugs, turning his head so he can cough into his shoulder. He must be feeling like absolute shit because usually he’d be sitting on top of Zayn, forcing him to try to fix him.

Only now that Louis thinks about it, he doesn’t remember Harry trying to get Zayn to fix the papercut he got yesterday, or the headache he was complaining of a few days back. He’s not even forced Zayn to try to read his mind since that first day in Canada. It’s --

“Hold still, yeah?” Zayn says, interrupting Louis’s train of thought. He sets his palm on the curve of Harry’s throat. 

“It’s just a cold,” Harry says when nothing happens.

“He’ll be fine,” Niall says brightly, sliding his arm around Zayn’s waist and squeezing his hip before nudging him out of the way. “Sleep it off and be right as rain tomorrow.”

“How much whiskey are you putting in there?” Louis asks, shocked by the amount Niall’s pouring into Harry’s tea.

“Enough.”

“Enough to give him a splitting headache on top of this, you mean?”

“He’s a grown man, he can take it.” Niall claps Harry on the shoulder. “Tell him, Haz.”

“I can take it,” Harry says gamely. He even manages a smile before he takes a sip and starts coughing immediately. “Jesus, Niall.”

“Told you,” Louis says as Niall laughs, clapping Harry on the back. He turns to roll his eyes at Zayn and finds he’s fucked off completely; he has to settle for staring at the ceiling, silently praying for strength before going to make Harry a non-toxic cuppa.

**

Niall had spiked all their drinks -- “to fight the germs, Tommo, c’mon” -- so Louis is feeling brilliant when he finally makes his way back to Bus 1. It disappears when he’s hit with a wall of smoke and sad music and Zayn, staring at the wall looking as broken as he’d been when he boarded the plane and told Louis his powers were more than Niall-specific.

“What?” Louis breathes out, trying to figure out how things got to this point. _Why_ they got here.

“Niall was disappointed,” Zayn says without turning around. “I heard him.”

“It would’ve been sick if it had worked, is all,” Louis says, taking a careful step forward. He feels like one wrong movement could shatter everything. “He knows you can’t control it.” 

Zayn’s eyes are red and unfocused when he looks over. Louis wonders how long he’s been holed up here, trying to box it away. Too long, clearly. 

“I wanted it to work,” Zayn says. “Why the fuck didn’t it?”

Louis shrugs, his hand hovering near Zayn’s shoulder. “I don’t know, bro.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

“Harry’s had colds before,” Louis says softly. “I think he’ll live.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Zayn’s face is red and splotchy and Louis doesn’t know what to do, not when Zayn’s voice is cracking like that. He tries to be subtle about pulling out his phone so he can text Liam.

_COME 2 THE BUS NOW !!!!_

Pure relief floods his veins when Liam shows up not five minutes later, laughing as he calls out, “What’s up, Tom-- oh.”

Louis smiles grimly. “Bit of a rough patch here, Payno.”

“Well,” Liam says, and then stops like he’s not sure what the fuck to say. Louis gets it, tries to convey everything through his eyebrows when Liam sits down on Zayn’s other side, his hand settling right at the top of Zayn’s spine. “Alright, Zayn?”

Zayn makes a small sound, his back hunching even further under Liam’s palm. 

“Just got off the phone with me mum,” Liam says. His smile’s bright and probably a bit forced, but it’s better than nothing. “She says hello. They’re thinking of flying out for a show.”

Louis gestures to the door, worried that he’s going to bring Liam’s mood down if he hovers around, fretting. Liam nods and keeps talking, his thumb stroking the bumps of Zayn’s spine as recounts his argument with his mum about which city is best for a visit. Louis thinks Zayn’s relaxing under Liam’s touch but could be he’s imagining it.

Outside the sunlight feels harsh, too bright for what Louis has just seen, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He digs a football out from the storage compartment and heads off looking for a patch of wall he can use as a backstop.

**

“Louis!” Zayn yells. Louis has to double back to duck into the dressing room he’s in.

“Yeah?”

“I want to try something,” Zayn says, beckoning him closer. Harry’s better now, mostly, can’t quite hit his high notes but he’s managing. Louis sits where Zayn points, on the couch next to Harry.

“Zayn’s had an idea,” Harry tells him, smiling brightly.

“Not an idea,” Zayn says. “More like a question.”

Harry rolls his eyes and Louis does too because he’s glad they’re getting along again but he was headed to play football with Liam and this is really cutting into that. He’d suggest they use Niall for their stupid experiments, only he knows Niall’s been spending most of his free time with 5SOS lately, him and Zayn trying to give each other as much space as possible without it seeming like they're actively avoiding each other. It’d be fucking shit, Louis thinks, always having someone else in your head.

“It was mine, really,” Harry says. “I wanted to know if Zayn could like, make your tattoos jump.”

“It’s because I’ve got like, the most control over it,” Zayn explains. Louis nods. Zayn’s aces at making his ink do dumb shit. The other day he’d rearranged Louis’s chest piece to say _Wait Is It shit_ while he was sleeping, laughing hysterically when Louis’d finally noticed, hours later.

“Alright,” he says, feeling skeptical that anything’ll happen. “What do I have to do?”

“Just sit there,” Harry says. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get your birds in his birdcage,” Zayn explains. Louis can’t help but laugh. 

“Right, sorry,” he says, off Harry’s look. “God forbid the wrong ink gets on your skin. It’d look totally out of place.”

“Please,” Harry scoffs, shutting up when Zayn pinches his side. Louis stays quiet because that’s what Zayn needs right now. He doesn’t mention how Zayn can move his tattoos seamlessly now, his fingers barely brushing Louis’s skin when he does it. 

Zayn’s hand is warm when he rests it on Louis’s forearm. He holds still but nothing happens. Zayn tries switching hands, so his scar is over Harry’s ribs, but nothing happens again. 

“It was worth a shot,” Harry says, shrugging, and Zayn shrugs back, his bottom lip sticking out.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Louis says, not sure if he’s talking about Zayn jumping his tattoos or Harry getting a trick of his own. They both smile at him either way.

The arrow on Louis’s compass spins aimlessly, like Zayn doesn’t even realize he’s moving it.

**

“Hey.” 

Zayn interprets Louis’s tap as a request and passes the spliff over. He’s been quiet ever since the show, even quieter than normal and it’s strange. Louis holds the smoke in his lungs, watches Zayn stare out the window into the empty parking lot. 

“Hey,” Louis tries again, quieter this time. He tries to remember if Zayn’s said anything since they got off stage. He’d been fine earlier, running around and laughing just like he has been ever since Liam put two and two together, but now. 

“I’m fine, Louis,” Zayn says, sounding anything but. He looks awful, too, like he’s hungover or exhausted, only all they’ve been doing is chilling on the bus. It’s too early in the tour for Zayn to look this wrecked.

“I can call Liam?” Louis sets the spliff in an ashtray and reaches for his phone. 

“No,” Zayn says quickly, grabbing Louis’s arm. He looks panicked at the thought, which is fucking weird. It’d worked like a charm last time.

“He can help, though,” Louis says, but Zayn’s shaking his head, reaching for the j and taking a drag like it’s his last and he has to make it count. He leans back in his seat, eyes closed, and Louis scoots closer, trying to figure out if he’s really got massive dark circles under his eyes or if it’s just a trick of the light.

“Breathe through your nose,” Zayn says eventually, opening his eyes and grimacing at Louis hovering over him. “Fuck’s sake, Louis.”

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes as Zayn laughs and shoves Louis backwards, sending him sprawling to the floor. 

It’s only later, when the air’s gone thick with smoke and Louis is nearly asleep that Zayn sighs and says, “It’s draining.”

Louis doesn’t know if Zayn means for him to hear. He turns his head to look and catches Zayn scrubbing his palm over his face. When he looks up, his eyes are sleepy, glazed over. They’re not as red as when Louis’d found him last time, but it’s close. At least the bags under his eyes look a bit better.

“It’s like, I’m up up up and it’s great when it’s all happening but then after --” He drops his hand to his lap, making an exploding noise. “You know?” 

Louis can’t even make himself nod, he just stares at him.

“It’s fine,” Zayn says when Louis is quiet for too long. “I’m fine. I just…”

“What if you stuck around,” Louis asks, finally finding his voice, “like, came down at the same time as him?” Liam has to unwind, too. Not as much as Zayn, but some. It could like, cushion it, Louis thinks. Like a big, soft mattress. One of the nice pillow-top ones.

Zayn shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not the show, it’s --” he looks away and Louis knows he’s stopped himself so he doesn’t blame Liam. “I think I just need to feel my own emotions? Like, recharge?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. Zayn doesn’t seem to notice, still talking like he’s lost in his own head, the rambling way he gets when he’s high. Louis normally loves that version of Zayn but tonight it’s too much. His head hurts from it.

“Because it’s like sometimes I can’t tell if I’m feeling something because it’s me or if it’s because of Liam influencing me, you know? How much of me is Liam now? At least I can hear Niall’s voice and I know it’s not mine. But Liam is just,” Zayn presses the heel of his hand to his chest and makes a low sound, something that’s not even words, and Louis feels lost just listening to him. He can’t imagine how horrible it must be to feel like that all the time, so uncertain. 

“And there’s no easy way because it’s constant and I can’t,” Zayn is saying, his voice small, “I don’t know how to shut it off.”

Louis is silent. He feels like someone’s shoved him off a bridge and expected him to fly. He has no clue what to do or say except “we can cancel the tour” or “maybe we can make an arc reactor for your feelings, to keep Liam’s from messing with yours.” Nothing that would actually help.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, staring out the window again. Louis stretches out, trying to get his hand around the nearest part of Zayn he can reach.

“It’s okay,” he says, fingers curling clumsily around Zayn’s ankle. “We’ll figure it out.”

Zayn hums but doesn’t say anything at all.

**

“Don’t say anything to Liam, yeah?” Zayn asks him the next morning. “I really am alright.”

He does look better in the broad light of day. Maybe he was right, that all he needs is time and space to recharge.

“Yeah, course,” Louis says, nodding. He doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s shoulders sag with relief.

And maybe it’s because he knows to look for it now, but Louis also doesn’t miss the careful way Zayn handles himself around Liam, disappearing when things get too intense or they’ve been together too long. It’s like back in the beginning of the band, when they’d turn around and find Zayn had fucked off to his room or the bus or a quiet corner somewhere because everything had become too much.

Only now it’s not the cameras or the horrible hours or the insane demands of fame, it’s _them_ Zayn’s hiding from, and that. Fuck. The realization is earth-shattering; Louis feels sick with it, honest-to-god sick like he’s going to boot right here in the stadium hallway, watching Zayn disappear round one corner while the rest of the lads bicker in the converted locker room.

“He alright?” Niall asks quietly. Louis jumps, surprised by how close he is. “Fucking _ow_.” Niall glares when Louis elbows him.

“He’s…” Louis trails off, unsure of how much he should say. It’s a fucking rock and a hard place and then a thousand more rocks fencing him in, what with not being able to talk to Liam without worrying it’ll influence his mood and not being able to talk to Harry without feeling guilty because Harry’s still powerless and not being able to talk to Niall because he and Zayn are basically living at opposite ends of the earth these days. Louis is at a complete loss, doesn’t even know how to help Zayn anymore.

“Lou,” Niall says quietly, an urgency in his voice that Louis doesn’t often associate with Niall.

“He’s just in a funk, is all,” Louis says, feeling like that’s saying enough without giving anything away. They’ve had this conversation a hundred times already this year, everyone always worried about Zayn withdrawing too much. It’s a fine line. “You know how he is.”

“Well,” Niall sighs, “if anyone’s allowed to have a sulk.”

“Right.” Louis forces a laughs. “Still. It’s getting real boring to watch, you know?”

Niall’s laugh matches exactly how unfunny the joke was. When Louis looks over, Niall’s watching him carefully. His face smooths out a second too late, just after Louis notes the worry lines carved deep in his forehead, at the corners of his eyes. Louis sighs; he probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“Hey,” Niall says, curling his hand around the nape of Louis’s neck. “He’ll pull out of it soon enough, yeah?”

He’s sounds as unsure as Louis feels about it. But whatever, life’s been odd as fuck lately, maybe saying shit out loud is enough to make it come true.

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding, eyes cutting to where Zayn’d disappeared. “Probably.”

**

That night, instead of his usual place next to Harry, Niall snakes in between Louis and Zayn in the pre-show huddle. Grinning, he slaps his palm on the top of their stack of hands. 

“Ow!” Liam pulls his hand back, shaking it out.

“Oh, suck it up,” Louis says, waiting until Liam puts his hand on top to pull his own out and slap it down, hard. 

“Louis!”

Harry does it next, less sharply than Louis had, but with an evil gleam in his eye that makes Niall cackle. Liam’s hand is tinged pink when he tentatively sets it back on top. He’s still frowning at Harry when Zayn carefully pulls his hand back and brings it down with a resounding slap.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding it in the least. It sets off a whole chain effect, everyone pulling their hands out to slap them on top of Liam's, one after the other, until he can't take it anymore.

“Alright,” he says, laughing and dancing backwards, completely away from all of them. "Fuck you all." 

“Gonna be a great one, lads,” Louis says, feeling all too aware of the way Niall’s nudging Zayn with his hip, definitely thinking something that's got Zayn rolling his eyes, his mouth pinched like he's trying not to laugh. “Really mean it this time.”

Just before they break, Zayn brings his hand down on top of Liam's one last time.

"Niall made me do it," he says immediately, laughing when Niall calls him a traitor and shoves him out of the huddle. Judging from the way Liam’s still scowling, Zayn’s smile is purely him. It makes the tightness that’s been settled in Louis’s chest ease up a bit.

It’s a feeling that lasts the whole show, seemingly spread through all five of them, everyone laughing more than they have in days. Louis hadn’t realized how much of Zayn’s mood they’d all been absorbing until now. 

“You gotta,” Louis hears Niall say to Zayn, the two of them just in front of him on the ramp. He’s close enough to hear Zayn laughing disbelievingly.

“Seriously?”

Niall nods, grinning. He catches Louis eye over his shoulder and winks, so quick that Louis almost misses it. 

“C’mon!” he yells, and the next thing Louis knows, Niall and Zayn are stopping in their tracks, Zayn bent over, arm outstretched like he’s Superman. The crowd cheers and Louis shakes his head, jogging down the catwalk after them.

“If only they knew,” he says once he catches up to Zayn. Niall’s a few steps ahead, waving to everyone. Zayn watches him for a moment, grinning, before he turns to Louis.

“He thinks it would’ve looked better with a cape.”

Louis laughs, waving to the crowd. Behind him, he can hear Liam and Harry laughing, Liam making a quiet Super Zayn joke that gets lost in the cheers. 

“Well,” Louis claps him on the shoulder, shaking him a bit before they head back up the catwalk, “there’s always next time.”

**

Louis blinks, trying to clear his vision, but it only makes everything foggier. That damn Bruno Mars song is playing again, bleeding through to where he and Zayn are tucked up in a corner backstage. Louis blinks again. At least it’s not the bloody Macarena.

“What the fuck, Louis?” Zayn hisses. 

“It was an accident,” he says, his hands on Zayn’s forearms for balance. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, he’d just lost track of time and now they’re due on at any minute and Louis is so high he’s not sure he can remember what song comes first, let alone things like “stage presence” and fuck all that management’s always on them about. “Fuck, Zayn, just fix it. You know you can.”

“You’re an arsehole,” Zayn says, glaring, but Louis feels sober as ever a heartbeat later.

“I love you,” he says, darting forward to kiss Zayn’s cheek, and it’s just in time because Paul’s voice is carrying down the hall, yelling that they’ve got thirty seconds or else.

**

It fucking figures that Louis wakes up the next morning completely unable to breathe, Harry’s death plague finally making its way to him. The pressure on his sinuses is so bad Louis wants to jam an ice pick in his eye for relief.

“Graphic,” Zayn laughs, making a face. 

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis whines, catching Zayn’s wrist and pulling it to his forehead. “Fix me.”

Zayn makes a fist, hiding his scar. His knuckles dig into Louis’s forehead; even that’s a welcome distraction. 

“Here,” Zayn says, holding a bottle of panadol up. He presses a couple pills into Louis’s palm. “Harry said it should be gone in twenty-four hours.”

Louis deserves a medal for not crying when it’s all he wants to do.

**

“You can’t do that to me, Louis,” Zayn says later, once Louis doesn’t feel like his brain is trying to box its way out of his skull. Louis wants to pretend not to know what he’s on about, but Zayn’s here, not running out of the room like he does when he’s been around Niall or Liam too long, and Louis is an arsehole sometimes but he can recognize the importance of that. “It’s --”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says, completely unable to stand the look on Zayn’s face. It’s too much like Zayn’s face when he’d confessed that he couldn’t tell Liam’s feelings from his own anymore. Louis feels like an awful fucking twat for taking advantage. He’s the only one who really knows the strain this has put on Zayn and he still managed to fuck it up. 

“I won’t again,” he promises, squeezing Zayn’s shoulder, hoping it conveys everything he doesn’t have the words for. 

**

Louis and Liam are having a kickabout between the buses, taking advantage of the fact that for once it’s not humid as fuck. Even Zayn’s come outside for a bit, though he’s long since given up on riding his skateboard and is just lying on it, sunbathing like a knob. 

He’s been quieter than usual lately. Louis was starting to worry he was being avoided after all, just like Liam and Niall, but maybe, as long as Zayn’s out here -- well. It’s better. Zayn can’t still be upset with him. 

“Harry!” Zayn says suddenly, bolting upright. It’s so loud Louis turns around, frowning. He’s just in time to see Harry walking up, absorbed in his phone and, more importantly, Zayn falling off the skateboard and onto the concrete. He’d feel bad for laughing if it wasn’t so funny. Even Niall, who’d been two steps behind Haz, cracks up.

“Zayn!” Harry yells back, just as loudly, smiling and pocketing his phone. “What’s up?”

“Heads!” Liam shouts, the football sailing past Louis and straight into the side of the bus. Harry takes a step back to avoid it. “Shit, sorry, lads. Hit it too hard.”

Harry laughs but Zayn looks like he’s seen a ghost, his mouth opening and closing as he looks from Harry to the where the ball had hit the side of the bus.

“Alright, Malik?” Louis asks, feeling strangely apprehensive. Zayn shakes his head as if to clear it.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking hard. “I thought…” He looks up at Harry and then at the football.

“Just missed ya, Haz,” Niall says, leaning up to touch the faint mark on the bus. A second later and it would’ve brained Harry.

Zayn makes a choked noise. Niall turns sharply to look at him -- they all do. Zayn’s still on the ground, his head in his hands, shoulders heaving like he’s trying to catch his breath.

“I’m fine,” he says, making Niall’s cheeks go pink. Niall crouches down anyway, his hands hovering over Zayn’s knees before he draws back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really. I thought -- I dunno.” Zayn looks at Harry again.

Louis is certain Niall doesn’t say a single word -- it’s fucking obnoxious, really, these silent half-conversations he has -- but Zayn makes a face at him, drawing a deep breath.

“I thought the ball hit him,” he says, quiet enough that Louis has to move forward to hear clearly. His face twists up like he’s trying to do mental maths. “I saw it, like a dream?”

Harry’s mouth drops open; next to Louis, Liam gasps.

“No,” Zayn says to Niall. He looks so confused. “I think -- I think it’s happened before?”

“Like what’s it called,” Liam says, “Dijon vu?”

Louis recognizes the look on Zayn’s face, everything coming back to him clear as day. 

“Canada,” he says, Zayn already nodding. “When you couldn’t stop staring at Harry’s girl. You saw her?”

“In the car.” Zayn’s eyes go wide as he remembers. “Harry asked if there’d be fit birds --”

“Tens,” Niall corrects, looking back at Harry, who’s too busy gaping at Zayn to register it.

“Right, and I got like, this flash of it, but I was pissed and then --”

“Harry pulled and you went catatonic,” Louis supplies, “because you recognized the girl.”

“I --” Zayn starts, not getting a chance to finish because Harry’s launching himself at Zayn, knocking him flat on his back.

“This is amazing!” he crows, beaming. “What else do see?”

“Wish I’d seen that,” Zayn says, rubbing his head where it’d hit the ground. He tries to frown but Harry’s excitement is contagious.

“So Harry’s power is the most useless,” Louis says, “write that down, Payno.”

“I will not.”

“Thank you, Liam!” Harry yells, his face tucked into Zayn’s neck.

**

“You have to admit, it’s useful,” Louis says, once the last of the weed’s gone and they’re both fucked enough that Zayn won’t roll his eyes. He hates talking about this shit sober, gets all weird and self-conscious about it. 

“Harry does trip over things a lot less,” Zayn agrees. 

Louis snorts thinking of how Zayn had caught Harry by the shirttail at the last second tonight, keeping him from falling over Liam’s discarded mic stand. 

“Exactly,” Louis says. “It’s much better than this.” He holds up his arm and the abandoned game of noughts and crosses they’d been playing using pilfered letters from his other tattoos. He hadn’t even been winning.

“Louis,” Zayn says, sounding a touch hurt. 

“I know, I’m kidding.” He had been, mostly. So Zayn can see Harry’s near future, big deal. Zayn can predict who Louis’ll shag next just as easily. “Haven’t had a hangover for days, have I?” 

Zayn taps his fist against Louis’s, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

“What’s Niall thinking now?” Louis asks. They’re all staying in the hotel tonight, floors between them just in case. Louis is glad for a real bed again, doesn’t care that he’ll probably end up crashing here, in Zayn’s, because at least he’ll still have room to spread out.

Zayn stares at the ceiling, lip caught between his teeth, listening. He pauses long enough that Louis knows he’s lying when he says, “Nothing much. Setting up tee times.”

“No,” Louis rolls over, catching Zayn’s arm first and then throwing his weight over him, pinning him to the bed. “What did he really say?”

“Get off.” Zayn wrestles back, struggling to get any of his limbs free.

“Tell me!” Louis gasps. “Is it dirty?”

“Shut up,” Zayn’s laughing, “Jesus, get off.”

“Is he watching porn? Zayn! You have to tell me!” 

“Do I? Don’t be a dick, bro.” 

“I’m being a dick? You’re being a dick, withholding vital information!” 

“Withholding -- oh gross, Lou.” Zayn twists when Louis tries to stick his wet finger in Zayn’s ear. He wiggles his arm free, pushing Louis’s face away from his. 

“Jesus fuck,” Louis groans, his head throbbing suddenly. He tips sideways, setting Zayn free in favor of massaging his temples. “Did you just --?

“What?”

“Give me this bloody headache, twatface.” He jerks his chin to Zayn’s scar. “Real fucking nice.”

“Holy shit,” Zayn says, staring at his hand. It’s like he hadn’t even realized.

“Well.” Louis feels like someone’s slapped him. Zayn looks equally stunned. “That’s new.”

Zayn stares at him. “Do you think? What if? But.”

“Full sentences, bro.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything at all, gnawing on his lip with an intensity that’s going to leave it bloody soon. Louis pokes him in the ribs.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking at Niall,” Zayn says. Louis bursts out laughing and Zayn glares, insulted. “What?”

“Can hear you?”

Zayn seems to think on it a second, his head tilted. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Maybe he’s ignoring me.”

“I’ll text him.”

“That’s -- Louis, _don’t_ , that defeats --” Zayn wrestles Louis’s phone away, dropping it off the side of the bed. It hits the carpet with a dull thud and they both lay there, panting.

“I wonder if I can change Liam’s feelings,” Zayn says eventually, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Fix my head first, wanker,” Louis says, rubbing his forehead. Zayn does it offhandedly, one arm extended toward Louis’s skull while he calls Liam. It’s such a far cry from the early days, when Zayn had been so careful with his touches, so gentle.

“LIAM!” he yells when Liam answers, making Louis glad his headache’s gone again. “COME UP TO MY ROOM!”

“Bring crisps,” Louis whispers.

“BRING CRISPS.”

Liam says something that leaves Zayn looking shell-shocked. He turns to Louis slowly. “What kind do you want?”

“Who bloody cares?” Louis shouts.

Zayn blinks. “Salt and vinegar,” he says, before hanging up, rubbing at his ear like Louis has made him deaf. He reaches out and Louis rolls away.

“Don’t,” he says, not sure what Zayn’s thinking of doing but knowing he won’t like whatever it is. 

It feels like a full day’s passed before Liam shows up, looking concerned when he sees Louis curled into a ball.

“Do need a doctor?” he asks, dropping an armful of snacks onto the foot of the bed. 

“He’s fine,” Zayn says, leaning over to rifle through the pile. Liam’s brought the whole minibar apparently. Louis opens and closes his palm expectantly.

“Cheers,” he says, when Zayn hands him a bag of cheetos and makes the cramp in Louis’s calf disappear. 

“You’re alright? You really just wanted crisps?” Liam not-so-subtly opens the door to the balcony to let in some fresh air. 

“Yeah, thanks, Payno,” Zayn says, beaming. Louis elbows him in the side. “Oh, right. C’mere a mo.”

He gestures Liam over until he’s standing between the vee of Zayn’s legs, making a face at Louis. 

“Uh,” Liam scratches the back of his neck while Zayn sets his hand over his sternum, “what’s --”

“Shh,” Zayn and Louis say. After a minute, Zayn sighs. Liam takes a step back, looking at both of them like they’ve grown extra heads.

“Maybe it’s because you’re both in the same moods?” Louis suggests. 

Zayn regards Liam carefully. “Maybe.”

“Mates,” Liam says, sounding nervous. 

“Oh, right, sorry.” Louis points at Zayn with his thumb. “Zayn’s powers are like, reversing now. We wanted to see if he could change your mood.”

Liam laughs and then stops when he realizes Louis is serious. “Wait, what?”

**

It works. Louis sees it with his own eyes the next morning when Liam goes from being his usual self to a cranky arsehole after Zayn brushes past him to get to the toilet.

Liam slams the balcony door shut behind him as he goes for a cigarette, grumbling about something Louis can’t make out.

“Mate, if that’s you, you have to fix it,” Louis calls through the wall. “I’m not putting up with double.”

Zayn emerges looking sour. Louis holds out his lighter and cigs, nudging Zayn towards the door before picking up the phone to order food. Full English, special order, just in case Zayn can’t put everything back the way he found it.

**

“That was weird,” Liam says later, talking around a rasher of bacon, pointing at Zayn with his fork. “I didn’t like it.”

Louis feels like there’s something sitting on his chest; he doesn’t think Zayn’ll tell Liam how hard it’s been, but it feels like a now or never chance.

All Zayn does is nod. “Takes a bit of getting used to.”

Louis exhales shakily, tucking into his eggs to avoid making eye contact. 

“Think it works for Nialler too?” Liam asks.

“Probably,” Zayn says, looking down at his Weetabix.

“Get him down here, then, give it a go.” Liam’s grinning but Zayn shakes his head.

“He’s still asleep.”

There’s silence for a moment, Zayn frowning while Liam keeps his smile pasted on. Louis wonders if it’s like, a war of emotions he can’t see, them both trying to counteract the other. If it feels like a storm or everything just gets canceled out. It seems exhausting either way.

“Later, then,” Liam says after a moment.

He’s looking down so he doesn’t notice Zayn tensing up, the way his shoulders draw up toward his ears. They all know Zayn’s had the hardest time with Niall; Louis can’t imagine he really even _wants_ it to reverse. It’s bad enough he hears Niall constantly, but to have Niall hearing him on top of it? Talk about shit icing on the shit cake.

It’s only a split second but Louis feels it like it’s a whole lifetime, everything stretching out before Zayn swallows, visibly relaxing before nodding at Liam. “Yeah. Later.”

**

“Oi, Malik, Haz reckons he’s ready to try again,” Louis shouts in the direction he thinks Zayn’s gone. He’s met with silence, so he could be heading the wrong way. Or could be Zayn’s hiding, fed up with Harry’s attempts to reverse. It would figure, since that mostly meant Harry holding Zayn’s hands and staring at him unnervingly.

Louis figures he’ll give it two more minutes max and then give up. Let Zayn win this round. Save Harry from an aneurysm. He slows down and stops shouting. Takes his time reading the plaques on the walls; they’re the only interesting thing down here. All these American football stadiums look the same otherwise.

He perks up when he hears Zayn nearby. Louis rounds the corner, expecting to find him on the phone with his mum or Dan or whoever.

“There you are,” he says, smiling. Zayn and Niall spring apart, both of them looking startled. “Oh, sorry. I only heard you, thought you were alone.” 

Zayn shrugs. Louis clears his throat. He doesn’t know why the fuck they look so out of sorts. 

“Harry’s looking for you,” he says, gesturing back the way he’s come.

Zayn rolls his eyes, making Louis and Niall both chuckle. He heads in the direction Louis pointed, though, which is unexpected. Louis’d been waiting for him to ask Louis to cover for him, say he’d died or something.

He and Niall watch Zayn walk away, patting his pockets for his lighter. Niall shifts from foot to foot, looking lost in his own head. 

“Secrets, secrets,” Louis chides, tugging at Niall’s hair, his knuckles digging into Niall’s skull the slightest bit.

“Shut up, Tommo.” Niall just sounds tired. He’s got bruises under his eyes, almost. Louis hadn’t noticed he was looking Zayn-levels of wrecked until just now. 

“Want me to tell you a dirty joke?” he offers, feeling unsteady all of a sudden. “Make Zayn trip into a wall for listening in?”

“No,” Niall says, but Louis tells it anyway, just to get Niall to crack a real smile.

**

“Payno, Payno, Payno,” Louis sing-songs, bouncing over to where Liam’s hidden himself in a corner under the stage. He drapes himself over Liam’s back, his chin hooked over his shoulder. “Checking for last minute dirty pics?” 

Liam shrugs him off immediately. “Fuck off, Lou.”

He’s got Twitter open, that’s all Louis can see. It’s enough though. He tries not to sigh. They’re due on any minute now and Louis had convinced Zayn to share a bowl earlier, a real success since he hasn’t smoked before a show since the whole lightning thing, but now Liam’s here, probably five seconds from ruining the good mood Zayn’s in because his face all downturned and --

“Christ, stop poking me.” Liam slaps Louis’s hand away from his cheek. 

“Stop being all --” Louis frowns exaggeratedly, which makes Liam scoff.

“Careful, Lou,” Zayn says, suddenly right behind them, “your face’ll stick like that.”

“ _Your_ face,” Louis says to Liam, which only makes him look angrier. It’s funny, sort of. It’d be better if they weren’t going on in thirty seconds; Liam in a strop on stage isn’t fun for anybody.

Zayn laughs, his eyes crinkling as he throws an arm around both their necks, hauling them in. 

“You stink,” Liam says, nose wrinkled, but Louis can see the way he’s softening under Zayn’s touch. “Both of you.”

“Love you, too, bro,” Zayn says, leaning up to kiss Liam’s temple. “C’mon, we’ve got to go.”

He tugs Liam toward where Harry and Niall are waiting, leaning over to say something that makes the corners of Liam’s mouth tick up. Louis is about to roll his eyes at Liam and his mood swings when Zayn glances back, lip caught between his teeth like he’s unsure about something.

He tilts his chin, urging Louis to follow, and Louis notices Zayn’s hand cupped round Liam’s neck, the way he turns back to Liam and says something else, laughing as he -- oh. Louis freezes for a second when he realizes. 

“Cheater,” he whispers when he huddles up between Harry and Zayn.

Zayn ducks his head to hide his smile. The broken rope on Louis’s wrist mends itself before splitting apart again just before they take the stage.

**

There’s a moment, right in the middle of one of Liam’s speeches about how happy they are to be here, when it occurs to Louis that he should’ve been coming down by now. That there’s no way his measly high should’ve lasted this long. 

He scoots his way along the bench, waving at girls as he goes, until he makes it to where Zayn’s sat. Liam is still talking, thank god.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, leaning in so he doesn’t have to shout.

“Feeling good, Louis?” Zayn laughs, reaching up so he can cup Louis’s neck the same way he had Liam’s earlier. He’s got that same bright, pleased look in his eyes, too.

Louis laughs along with him, feeling lighter than he has in ages. Farther away he can see Harry leaning into Niall, saying something that has him and Zayn both laughing. Zayn shoots a thumbs up down the catwalk, changing it to a thumbs down once Harry’s turned away. It makes Niall laugh even harder.

“What’s all this?” Louis asks.

“Harry’s got his sights on a bird, wants to know if I’m getting any good vibes.”

“And?”

Zayn just laughs, his eyes sparkling with it. 

“Use protection!” Louis says as Harry jogs past, and even Liam laughs into the microphone.

Zayn lets go of Louis’s neck, slinging his arm around Louis’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Louis touches his mic to Zayn’s forearm. “Zap,” he says, but he leaves it hanging there. Right now he can’t think of anything he wants to wish for. 

 

**prince hazpian**

“Okay,” Harry places his hands on Zayn’s shoulders, “go for it.”

“Harry,” Zayn already looks well annoyed, but Harry’s hoping that it will make him more powerful, or something, Harry knows that it’s loads of different things that have helped so far. “It’s not going to work.”

“Forgot you’re an expert at this now,” Harry drops his hands from Zayn’s shoulders to settle back on the couch. He looks out the window of the bus, “wonder whereabouts we are.”

“America,” Zayn mumbles, a smirk twisting up his features when Harry looks up to flip him off. “Dunno,” Zayn sighs, finally looking up from his phone, his gaze staring out past Harry to the passing road, “where are we going again?”

“Detroit.” Harry pauses, squinting out the window again to see if there are any passing signs. “Or. No, it’s definitely Detroit.”

“So,” Zayn smiles, and Harry settles on it even though he knows it looks more strained than real. “We’re on the road, then. To Detroit.”

“Ha,” Harry keeps his voice slow, hopes Zayn picks up on how he’s not amused. “But, listen. I think that if we try-”

“Yeah, because that worked with your tattoos,” Zayn cuts him off, squirming away when Harry launches across the bus lounge to land on top of him, “Oi, Harry.”

“Look at this,” Harry shoves his forearm in Zayn’s face, “I still think it’s crooked, yeah?”

“It’s just a shit tattoo,” Zayn taps his thumb on the edge of the bible, and when Harry looks he’s got his brow furrowed like he’s concentrating hard. “Soz, Harry.”

“I’m hurt,” Harry pushes his arm so Zayn’s thumb presses down harder. “But maybe if you concentrate.”

“I can’t-” Zayn flicks his nail against the dark ink and Harry flinches, settling for sprawling back with his legs in Zayn’s lap. 

“I’m not getting stroppy,” Harry knows what Zayn is thinking the second Zayn turns to stare at him, his eyebrow quirked up, “I’m not.”

“Sure, that’s why I’m just sitting here trying to read and you’re fucking with my concentration,” Zayn laughs, sounding hollow, “which is hard enough, you twat.”

“I thought that like,” Harry reaches up to rest his finger against Zayn’s temple, “if I was talking to you as a distraction, it’s easier.”

“It’s,” Zayn pushes back into Harry’s touch, eyes fluttering closed, and Harry thumbs at Zayn’s cheekbone, hoping it’ll help calm him. Zayn’s jaw twitches before he’s speaking with his eyes still closed, “I think t’other bus is getting closer or summat.”

“Could text Niall,” Harry slides his hand up so it’s scratching at Zayn’s scalp, “tell him to take a nap? He did offer to fly ahead.”

“‘s not fair,” Zayn opens his eyes, looking knackered when he turns his head into Harry’s hand, “and it’s not a big deal, think he’s just having a laugh with Liam. Playing FIFA.”

“I wonder,” Harry tries to decide what would be best, tell Zayn the joke he heard earlier or ask him if he heard the conversation he and Niall had had that morning; if the music Harry had played distracted the frequency of Niall’s thoughts enough or something, but when Zayn flicks his eyes over to Harry, looking a right mess, Harry swerves back to the last thing on his mind, “I wonder how it even _would_ work, right? D’you think that I could see if you were about to fall over? Cut yourself shaving?”

“Mmm,” Zayn makes a noise, sounding annoyed, and Harry realizes he’d stopped moving his hand. “Feels better. Got a headache.”

“Okay,” Harry swirls his fingertips again, “maybe I could tell you who you’re gonna fuck next?”

“Jesus,” Zayn laughs, “that wouldn’t be any different from ages ago, would it now.”

“Ah,” Harry touches his free index finger to his nose, “right on. I dunno Zayn, maybe I’d be less rubbish at it.”

“Or step in at the last minute for yourself,” Zayn narrows his eyes, and Harry digs his fingers in harder until Zayn breaks, laughing. “Sorry Harry, you know I’m over it.”

“Zayn,” Harry pokes at his side, “what if you had some sick power in your cock you didn’t know about?”

“I don’t really,” Zayn’s eyes cloud over with something, and Harry doesn’t know if Niall just thought something odd or Zayn started thinking too hard about everything. 

“There’s time for that,” Harry feels clumsy, or something, and tries to surge forward, “anyway, so maybe that’s it!”

“Maybe whatsit?” Zayn asks, sounding tired again. 

“How it works to go backward, like, maybe we could-”

“I know what it is,” Zayn interrupts, looking serious, and Harry tenses. Zayn reaches up then, knocking Harry’s arm out of the way so he can press his fingers to his own temples.

“What?” Harry holds his breath. 

“Can see in the past,” Zayn mumbles, massaging at his head, “you...lose X Factor.” 

“Alright alright,” Harry shoves at Zayn’s side, flopping on his back and stretching his arms up toward the ceiling, “I guess I deserve that.”

“You do,” Zayn sounds like there’s frustration edging into his voice, and Harry doesn’t want to sit back up and see how his face looks. “Don’t think it’s like that for everyone, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, after a moment, stretching further to see if he can crack his neck and shoulders. 

“Niall’s doesn’t reverse, either,” Zayn sounds like he’s speaking around his hand now, sounding slightly muffled. 

“Zayn,” Harry props himself up on his elbows, but Zayn’s already staring down at his phone again. “I’ll stuff it.”

“I wish I had that power,” Zayn murmurs under his breath, and Harry feels out of sorts until he feels Zayn’s hand land on his ankle. 

“Wake me up when we stop,” Harry focuses on Zayn’s thumb smoothing over his skin and the slow buzz of the moving bus. 

**

Detroit is crazy, the field closed in so everything feels loud and hot to Harry. He wonders, briefly, if he should talk to someone about opening the windows along the top of the roof after they finish soundcheck. Zayn had just seemed out of sorts, frowning as he looked up at the skylights and held himself away from all the lads.

“Alright then?” Harry sidles up alongside Liam as they’re getting ready to go on, unsure where Zayn is. He spots Niall in the corner, eyes closed as he listens to something, Louis idling nearby to let him know when it’s time to go on and he can turn off the music to help Zayn drown him out.

“Just,” Liam frowns, “had a bit of a row with Sophia, in a shit mood.” He fiddles with his in ear, shaking his head at Harry. 

“Oh.” It dawns on Harry then, why Zayn’s fucked off. “Steer clear of Zayn then, yeah?”

“Why would I-” Liam mumbles, looking lost in his thoughts before his eyes widen, “oh fucking hell.”

“Yeah.” Harry pokes his finger at the collar of Liam’s shirt, scraping at Liam’s skin until he flinches away. 

“Sorry,” Liam shrugs, and when Harry looks up Liam meets his eyes, looking apologetic. “Was just in it, didn’t think about….you know.”

“Surprised,” Harry feels his jaw clench, wonders why he’s suddenly annoyed with Liam, “you’ve been the one with the answers, y’know.”

“Fucking split me open Hazza,” Liam’s brow furrows, “I feel shit enough already.”

“We taking the piss?” Louis’s there suddenly, draping himself across Liam’s shoulders. “Was getting a touch bored, Niall won’t talk to me.”

“Zayn’s…” Harry starts, waving his hand around until Louis nods, tightening his grip around Payno’s shoulders.

“Lemme guess,” he says, Liam squirming against his grip, “Liam’s still moaning about the stupidest fight I’ve ever heard, and Zayn’s been pouted off to exile because of it.”

“It wasn’t,” Liam starts, but Harry shoots him a look so he’ll stuff it. 

“Think he’s just off,” Harry shrugs, thinking about how pale Zayn looked on the bus. “All these like, reversals or whatever. He’s a bit drained.”

“You his minder now?” Louis asks lazily, Harry ignoring the hurt tone underlying it all. 

“Think we all are, a bit,” Liam tries, Harry wondering if he’s able to pick up on shit moods now too, feeling unlike himself. It’s not like he can go to Niall to for a cheer up, either. 

“Maybe after the show,” Harry reaches back into his pocket for his scarf, shaking it out before he winds it round his head, “Zayn can see if he can cheer you up. Both of you, I guess.”

“It really was a little row,” Liam takes a deep breath, elbowing at Louis when he reaches to tweak at his nipple. 

“We’ll take Zayn out after,” Louis nods at Paddy when he passes to signal that it’s almost time, “you handle Nialler.”

“Fair enough, that’s not out the ordinary,” Harry strides over to where Niall’s sat, his eyes closed. He looks peaceful, like he’s having a kip, but when Harry gets closer he sees how bad his knees are on, looking all go and twitchy.

“Hey,” Harry tries to keep his touch gentle when he reaches out for Niall’s shoulder, Niall flinching away hard.

“Chrissakes Harry!” Niall yelps as he yanks the earphones out, handing his phone over to Paul as he passes by. “Was tryin’ to concentrate. Zayn around?”

“Somewhere,” Harry waves his hand around them, “Li’s in a bad mood.”

“So fucking what,” Niall starts, his eyes getting bigger as he realizes, “oh, shit.”

“We’re all closed in,” Harry shakes out his arms and legs, not realizing how bad he’s flailing until Niall’s hands are on his shoulders to keep him steady. “Think it’s gonna be a bad one, for him.”

“Yeah.” Niall focuses his eyes in on Harry’s face, and Harry knows he’s trying to slow himself, knows how hard it is. “Thought the stage was so big, yeah? When we started.”

“Straight out of breath the first week,” Harry agrees, keeping his eyes on Niall’s when he speaks to try and help him out. 

“Now,” Niall laughs, something about it twisting up Harry’s insides, “wish it were bigger. Be easier on ‘im, y’know?”

“We just have to test it out, I suppose.” Harry grins over at Niall, trying to cheat them both into better moods, “tried it, on the bus. Still no reverse.”

“What’s he gonna do, tell you how the past went?” Niall laughs what sounds like something real this time, “Tell you how we lost X Factor, or that you once shagged the same girl in one night?”

“That’s what I said,” comes Zayn’s voice over Harry’s shoulder, he and Niall both startling at his presence. 

“It’s almost like you were readin’ my mind,” Niall widens his eyes, “funny, that.”

“Thought so.” Zayn nods, hand reaching out to pinch at Harry’s hip. “C’mon, let’s go. Gotta deal with that small stage, yeah?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Niall reaches out for his guitar as they make their way to the stage, “I never mentioned anything of the sort.” He grins over at Harry when he says it, Harry remembering at the last minute to slot himself in between Zayn and Liam. He’s not sure if it’ll help, but it won’t really hurt. 

**

Harry’s instincts were right; it is louder. He likes it though, feels like it’s all this extra energy that they can all feed off of; like he’s the one who was struck by lightning. The thought of it makes him feel a bit rubbish, if he’s being honest, catching a flash of the scar slashing through Zayn’s palm when they make their way down the catwalk for “Alive." He slows, grateful that Louis’d run up ahead to ramble on about some bollocks so they’d have time.

“Alright?” Zayn’s knocking Harry’s in ear out when he leans in, Harry realizing that he must’ve had a shit look on his face. 

“Yeah,” Harry leans closer over the roar of the crowd, “does your hand hurt?”

“What?” Zayn’s laughing, shaking his head when they finally meet up with the others. Harry watches Zayn slide over to behind Liam while he’s still chuckling to himself, hooking his arm around Liam and spinning them away from the crowd as the stage rises, the perspective of everything changing. 

“He’s perked up,” Niall’s grabbing at Harry’s junk out of nowhere, Harry dodging it before pinching Niall’s arse. “Leemo, too.”

“Wonder,” Harry licks at Niall’s ear when he yells into it to see him make a face, “who’s helping who out there.”

“Think it’s Zayn,” Niall reaches up and tugs at Harry’s scarf, laughing hysterically when he runs over across the small area with it in his hand. 

“Niall!” Harry yells over the sounds of Zayn starting to sing his verse, darting around him and Liam to try and catch up with Nialler. Niall’s standing near the left corner, sloppily tying the scarf around his own head and doing some sort of shit jig in Harry’s direction, a wide grin on his face.

It sets Harry back a second, edging over toward Niall while he sings along with the chorus. He waits, poking at Niall’s sides when Niall starts singing his verse, feeling a swell of satisfaction when Niall breaks and laughs, full into his mic. As Niall ducks down, trying to get away, Harry manages to outreach him and snatch at the scarf, yanking it off Niall’s head. 

“Aha!” Harry yells into his mic before they launch into the chorus again, Louis trying to fumble him up when he passes. He can feel Niall behind him when he nearly skids out around Liam, feeling breathless when they launch into the bridge, grateful when Liam takes over after. 

Louis’s got Niall tied up somehow, and Harry takes advantage, gripping his mic between his thighs and fixing his hair. He yanks his hand stubbornly through a particularly tough bit of tangles when Zayn’s suddenly catching his eye across the stage, something dropping in his face and making Harry stand stock still. He knows what’s coming, not sure where he should go. Just lets it happen.

Zayn crashes into him, hard from his run across the stage, the two of them falling down tangled together. It’s not like before, Zayn giving him a gentle reminder before he’s about to trip or something. This time, Zayn’s grip is so hard around his waist that Harry wants to squirm away, turning his head to see where everything ended up. When he does, the sight of his scarf sliding off the edge of the stage followed by his mic, the screams of the crowd getting impossibly louder, makes him gasp for breath and curl into Zayn. Wishes Zayn were gripping him even tighter. 

Zayn’s mic is trapped between them, Harry only realizing when Zayn’s gripping it carefully up by both of their mouths, nodding until they both finish the song, the irony of what they’re singing not lost on Harry. Especially when he looks up and the others are all singing uneasily, eyes wide and fixed on them. Forced smiles on their faces. 

“If it makes you feel alive….” Harry pushes at Zayn as soon as it’s done, but Zayn pins him down with a dark look. He leans in, face warm against Harry’s when he whispers in his ear.

“Fucking hell, you were gonna topple right over the edge, if I hadn’t…” Zayn’s breathing hard then, his weight sagging into Harry, and Harry meets Niall’s eyes over his shoulder, Niall nodding immediately. Niall motions at Liam then, Louis already giving a speech about how he wrote the song about clumsy bandmates to deflect. 

“Mate,” Liam’s voice is calm when he leans down, his hand firmly on Zayn’s back, “c’mon then.”

“Alright.” Zayn’s voice sounds better already when Liam pulls him upright, “Thanks.” He looks pale.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, we were just fucking about,” Harry says right into Niall’s ear after Niall pulls him up, Niall standing still and looking over at Zayn. Zayn’s head turns in their direction, and Harry keeps talking, “I’ll figure out how to make it work, for when it happens to you. So I can see.”

Zayn looks like he’s about to smile before something in his face changes, and he rolls his eyes, flipping them off before he turns into Liam’s touch. Niall starts laughing.

“What the fuck was that?” Harry asks, grateful when the stage starts to go back down. He hopes Niall doesn’t mind how he’s wrapped around him.

“I was tryin’ to stay blank for you two, but,” Niall grins, looking dazed, “couldn’t help it. I was thinking that Zayn’d have to move about at all for you to even need to save him from anything.”

“You’re no good for anything at all,” Harry shoves at Niall’s shoulder before he pulls him back in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, waiting for the crowd to start screaming louder and drown everything out. 

**

“What the fuck was that?” Louis explodes as soon as they get backstage, all of them breathing hard like it’s been a marathon and not a concert. Harry still feels shaky, like there’s a tingling up and down his arms and legs. The back of his neck feels stiff. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the fall or something else, something with Zayn. 

“Think Hazza was about to take a nasty spill,” Liam says, and when Harry glances over he’s got his arm wrapped around Zayn, who looks calmer. There’s still something in his eyes, though, when he looks over at Harry. It sets off the tingles again, Harry rolling his head around to try and crack his neck against it. Niall’s there then, though, his hand squeezing gently. 

“Cheers,” Harry murmurs in Niall’s direction and Niall smiles, it looking strained. 

“It’s nothing,” he responds, opening his mouth like he’s about to say more when Louis interrupts, waving his arm about.

“I get that, but Zayn taking him out like that? That’s new.” Louis looks a bit panicked, his eyes wild, and Harry steps closer, the others following suit until they’re in a huddle.

“Harry was…” Zayn starts, encouraged by Liam nodding, “it was gonna be bad, Lou.” Harry flinches, Niall’s fingers digging into his neck hard.

“Bad like,” Louis trails off, “great, Hazza fucking broke his leg? Like that?”

“No,” Zayn’s voice is so muted that they all shuffle closer. “No,” Zayn says again, and Niall exhales shakily, turning his head so his forehead tips into Harry’s shoulder. 

“Fuuuck,” Louis exhales. 

“It’s a good thing that Zayn was around then, yeah?” Liam says after a moment, and Niall laughs against Harry’s shoulder, sounding mad. 

“Niall,” Zayn says suddenly, “it’s not.”

“No?” Niall looks up then, his grip too firm on Harry’s neck. “How?”

“Lads, the rest of us aren’t mind readers as well,” Louis sounds tired, about as tired as Harry feels. 

“Zayn can be the Niall thought translator,” Liam adds, and Harry knows it’s his fake cheerful tone he puts on for interviews and the like. 

“It’s nothing,” Niall insists, talking over Zayn when he opens his mouth to speak. “I gotta get out of here.” 

He pulls himself away from the group, Harry feeling the loss immediately, all of them breaking apart like a bomb went off. Harry shifts his weight, all of them watching Niall say something to Preston before heading off.

“He’s just goin’ to the hotel,” Zayn says softly, shrugging when they all turn to look at him. “He said I could tell you that. And to fuck off without him.”

“Well,” Louis says, cutting his eyes over to Harry and raising his eyebrows. “Think we should all go out. Hazza, you’re staying in.”

“I-” Harry starts to protest, but Louis’s eyes shut him down. He should go check in on Niall, anyway. 

“Zayn, no excuses,” Louis pulls his arm away when Zayn pokes at his forearm, Harry surprised that he’s moving shit around when there’s so many people backstage. “Oi, keep off my birds.”

“Just makin’ them fly, Lou,” Zayn drops his hand though, after twitching his finger and moving them back. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll just,” Harry points back toward where Niall’d gone, the three of them nodding silently. When he turns, he can still hear the crowd exiting outside. It’s still so loud.

**

“You gonna say something?” Niall asks from the other side of the backseat, when they’re almost back to the hotel. Harry had caught up with him in time to duck into the car. It’s been very silent.

“Just contemplating my mortality,” Harry says, forcing out a laugh so Niall knows he’s mostly joking. Niall’s face clouds over immediately all the same, and Harry wishes he could take it back. 

“Scary as fuck, Harry,” Niall bites at his thumbnail, his words coming out muffled. “I can’t even, like.”

“Did you,” there’s something in Niall’s face, in his voice, in how he reaches over to grip at Harry’s forearm, that gives him pause. “Did Zayn like, say something?”

“What?” Niall pulls his arm back, everything going cold. “No, but you heard him.”

“Nialllll,” Harry draws out his name, knows that when he does he can usually get Niall to go along with him, “you always tell me the truth, right?”

“You know I do,” Niall’s back to speaking around his hand, his eyes looking wide in his face, bright in the dark of the car. “Harry, c’mon. What are you getting at?”

“Just,” Harry tries to think of the best way to bring it up, something clicking in the back of his brain, “have you heard _anything_?”

“Yeah, I’m hearin’ you talk bollocks right now, twat.” Niall laughs, it sounding hollow. 

“Earlier, before we went on, you said...the thing about Zayn and I, you know? Shagging the same girl?” Harry presses, hoping Niall’s following, but he knows Niall’s reached that stubborn level.

“Yeah, so what? Shagged her back to back. LA. ‘s why you got that tattoo.” Niall reaches over to flick at Harry’s shoulder. 

“Okay, but,” Harry keeps going even though there’s that warning tone to Niall’s voice, knows he’s one of the only people who can get away with it, “no one else knows about that. Not even you lads.”

“I know all your shit,” Niall whispers, his eyes looking wild like he’s been caught at something, “of course I know that.”

“No, Zayn and I made an agreement,” Harry laughs, remembering the handshake they made up to seal the deal and everything, “not even you, Niall.”

“So what are you getting at, Harry?” Niall looks out the window as they pull into the garage alongside the hotel, heading for the back service entrance. 

“I think you’re hearing Zayn, and not telling anyone.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Niall’s voice sounds so loud in the closed off back seat, “just because Zayn can make Liam pout less or give Louis a dickache doesn’t mean it goes both ways for all of us.”

“Niall,” Harry feels stunned, it’s so rare that Niall loses his temper. 

“Just leave it, okay?” Niall begs, reaching for the door handle like he can’t be in the car anymore. He leans back in a moment after he climbs out, “Come by my room if you want, I just need a few, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “I will.”

**

Harry does his best to dick around and give Niall time, washing his hair twice in the shower and scrolling through Twitter. There are too many messages already about what happened, though. Makes Harry want to be anywhere but alone in his hotel room, alive when he could be not that way. He sits down, instead, pulling out his journal and adding to the list he’s been keeping since everything with Zayn first started. 

It takes up ten pages. 

By the time he’s knocking on Niall’s door, it’s been a full hour. That seems like enough. Niall answers right away, hair damp from a shower, his cheeks still pinked up from the steam.

“Harry,” Niall says, before reeling him in for a long hug. Harry kicks the door shut before anyone can see, another hotel camera leak the last thing they need. 

“You okay, Nialler?” Harry asks into Niall’s neck when Niall squeezes him a bit too hard. 

“Yeah, course.” Niall pulls back, his eyes bright. When Harry steps further into the room he sees that Niall’s already raided the minibar, a line of empty bottles already lining his side table. 

“Getting started already?” Harry laughs, Niall launching past him to flop himself onto the bed. 

“Just a few.” Niall shrugs, patting the spot next to him on the bed. “C’mon, we can see if anything’s on telly.”

“Okay,” Harry sits down carefully, glancing over at the tight line of Niall’s jaw. Like he’s relaxed but not. “Hey, so.”

“So what?” Niall asks, already cracking up at himself. He reaches over for the glass on his bedside table, taking a long drink. 

“I was just.” Harry opens his journal, pointing at the top of the page, “I’ve been keeping track, of, you know, the Zayn stuff?”

“Bully for you,” Niall says quietly, his eyes looking unfocused to Harry as he scans the page. 

“Consider it my spreadsheet, Niall,” Harry points to the list, all the arrows he carefully drew, “y’know, I was upset that mine didn’t reverse, but. I don’t think it’s meant to?”

“Ya think?” Niall takes the journal from Harry’s hands fully, Harry taking advantage and grabbing for Niall’s glass to finish it off, the alcohol burning the whole way down. “Oi, Harry.”

“Anyway,” Harry points, “think it’d be shit if it did reverse, like. Wouldn’t make sense. Kind of how Louis’s doesn’t really, you know? But Liam’s, it’s good. And I’m thinking that…”

“What?” Niall interrupts him, his hand messing about with his hair. 

“I think yours is just. Dunno.” Harry leans back so he can catch Niall’s eyes, “I think it’s important, Niall. That you’re meant to not, like. Fight it?”

“Huh.” Niall stares back at him, his breathing so fucking loud in the room suddenly. 

“Do you,” Harry starts to ask, but then Niall’s speaking again, looking resolute.

“Think we should go out.” 

“Niall,” Harry sighs, “you know that we’re here for another day, we can’t get papped with drinks even if they would serve us. Not a one and done.”

“Then,” Niall closes the journal, his movements deliberate, “you better pour us both another.”

**

“I think we’re out,” Harry can feel how heavy his tongue is in his mouth, almost sloshing the end of his drink all over Niall and the bed when he tries to tip it back. 

“We can order more,” Niall’s sprawled out, his legs all over Harry. “Go t’ your room, raid yours.”

“We did already,” Harry tries to remember, how he’d stumbled down the hall and smuggled it all back in a towel. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Niall groans, rolling over and taking Harry’s empty glass to toss it on the floor with a thud. Harry doesn’t think he can hear it shatter. “I’m pissed.”

“No shit,” Harry starts laughing, patting at Niall’s hair where it’s all stuck up, dried funny from them rolling around. “I’m pissed too.”

“Look at us,” Niall’s laughing along with him, bright and loud, “what a fucking sad night in. We’re on tour, getting pissed in a hotel room like it’s four years ago.”

“Well, we’re not of age, Niall.” Harry holds himself as still as he’s able, suddenly dying for a wee but not wanting to get up. “We’ve always got each other.”

“It’s nice you think I won’t abandon ya the second I’m 21 next month,” Niall raises his eyebrow, laughing hard when Harry tries to punch him, aiming for his junk. 

“That hurts, Niall. Thought we were special.”

“We are,” Niall’s face falls, serious suddenly when he rolls over, his hands coming up to pat at Harry’s chest like he’s trying to map him out or something. “Harry, it was so fucking awful.”

“What was? The thought of you leaving me behind?” Harry holds his breath so he doesn’t laugh full in Niall’s face, sure he’s got nasty breath from all the alcohol they’ve been mixing all night.

“No,” Niall’s thumb taps at Harry’s cheek, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Harry freeze, “you. What Zayn saw. It was…you were just fucking lying there, Hazza. Your eyes were open, but it was like…” Niall trails off, his mouth still working like he’s speaking. 

“Did Zayn tell you?” Harry whispers, shoving up closer and gripping at Niall’s hand to press his palm against Harry’s chest. His heart is beating like crazy, and all he can think is that Niall should feel that. 

“I dunno, I guess?” Niall’s voice sounds thick, “It was just like, in here.” He points up to his head with his free hand, eyes looking wet. 

“When?” Harry can barely hear his own voice, Niall’s hand hot against his skin. 

“After? Just a quick flash, when you two were on the stage. And then,” Niall takes a deep breath, it sounding shuddery, “again, when we were huddled up. It’s-”

“So you are hearing things.” Harry prods gently, Niall’s hair brushing his forehead when he nods slightly.

“Just flashes. But this was so strong, like. I dunno. Was like I could _see_ what he was thinking. And I was just dicking around, Hazza, I didn’t think it’d ever….” He breaks off, and Harry suddenly gets it. 

“Niall, no.” Harry whispers fiercely, “it wasn’t your fault. And _nothing happened_.”

“I dunno what to do,” Niall’s blinking fast, Harry wishing he’d just let go, “do I just let Zayn hear everything, try to hear him back? What’s gonna happen next? If it’s just getting stronger, then what? And what if you-”

“What if nothing,” Harry pushes down the shaky feeling creeping up in his chest, a part of him wanting to ask exactly how bad it was. He curls in closer to Niall instead. “I wonder where the other lads are, maybe we need to get out of here.”

“Casino,” Niall mumbles into Harry’s chest, “my head hurts too much right now to hear exactly which one.”

“Shit.” Harry tries not to grin, “Bet it’s the closest one, yeah?”

“Fuck knows,” Niall laughs, “Jesus fuck, Harry, what are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna go to the casino,” Harry says, tipping his head up to brush his lips against Niall’s forehead, “and then, I don’t know. We’ll all be rubbish for a bit. And I’ll come up with something.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Niall laughs, squirming away when Harry tries to launch himself on top of him. 

**

The casino’s loud when they get there, still stumbling a bit even though they’d stopped at the pizza place across the way and stuffed themselves, laughing together. There were still times, though, when Niall’d get a look on his face like maybe he was hearing something, or maybe he was still just worried, his knee pressing solidly into Harry’s thigh under the table. 

“Over here,” Niall says, nodding at Preston to follow them as they make their way through the crowd of older people focused on slot machines.

“It’s like Zayn’s got a,” Harry leans down to whisper in Niall’s ear, “signal, or summat. A radar.”

“Nah, I just know they’ll probably be at a bar,” Niall laughs, reaching behind to tug at Harry’s arm. “Like, here.”

Harry glances up at what looks to be a restaurant with a lounge situated within the casino, Niall pulling him along until he spots the three of them, Louis and Liam arguing while Zayn looks on. Niall must think something, at that moment, because Zayn’s turning toward them then, a hesitant smile blooming on his face.

“Lads!” Liam yells as they approach, “How did you know we were here? We’ve all tried to send texts but it’s shit service.”

“Well,” Harry wonders just how much Niall wants to say when Niall himself speaks up.

“Zayn texted me, sort of like?” Niall sounds tentative, Harry watching his eyes cut over to Zayn. 

“This is amazing!” Liam yells, clearly not into his first drink, “I was just telling Zayn ages ago, I was saying to him yeah, hey Zayn, why don’t you try and tell Niall where we are. Didn’t I?” 

“I do seem to recall you yelling on about that for a solid hour, Liam,” Louis rolls his eyes, signaling for another round and pointing at Niall and Harry in turn. “Or more than, even.”

“I wasn’t trying, really,” Zayn’s shrugging, looking over cautiously at Niall. Harry shuffles over so he’s almost between the two of them, squeezing at the back of Zayn’s neck to let him know it’s okay, that it’s all okay. He meets Niall’s eyes when he does, and he knows then that they can both tell how Zayn’s sort of psyched. 

“This is _brilliant_ ,” Liam slurs, Louis clapping him on the back hard so he coughs. “I knew it’d work, Niall. Knew it wasn’t like Professor X.”

“Liam, you do like to talk some shit,” Louis laughs, the two of them wrestling on about something when Harry catches Zayn leaning over him to Niall.

“Did you get the full address?” he asks him, keeping his voice low enough that Harry feels like he’s eavesdropping, “I thought a lot of things.”

“I didn’t, like,” Niall glances over at Harry, “we were a bit busy, getting pissed, working some stuff out.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, his brow crinkling up so that Harry knows Niall’s thinking of what they talked about. “I’m sorry, Ni, I didn’t mean t’ do that to you.”

“It’s all fine,” Niall’s eyes are bright, his hand reaching out again for Harry’s, “anyway, I just sort of…I don’t know, I just knew?”

“I’m going to help you work on it,” Harry says firmly, before either one of them can think too hard about everything, think about the wrong future they saw for him.

“Well that’s comforting,” Zayn chuckles.

“I have to update my chart!” Liam suddenly yells, Louis somehow up on his back now, and Harry is so, so glad he didn’t get a chance to die. 

**

“This is so fucking stupid,” Zayn crosses his arms, fixing a stare on Harry from his position on the floor. “Niall agrees.”

There’s a sharp knock on the wall from the room next to them, and Harry hopes that’s Niall taking offense and not agreeing. 

“Fine,” Zayn sighs, rolling his eyes, “Niall wanted me to tell you that was a fuck you knock to me because he knows I’m probably slandering him right now and whingeing on.”

“I knew it,” Harry pushes aside the curtain so he can see the crowd of fans below their hotel. “Sorry we can’t, you know, really test things.”

“s’alright,” Zayn shrugs, spinning slowly until he’s leaning with his back against the bed. “Wasn’t working anyway. Could hear Niall fine, but,” he scrunches up his nose like he’s trying to concentrate, “don’t think he’s getting anything back.”

The door opens suddenly, Niall not bothering to say a word as he walks in. 

“I can hear you thinking my room’s a tip, twat,” Zayn says lazily from the floor, Harry moving over so he can flop over on top of Niall when he sits on the settee.

“I know, that’s why I thought it,” Niall says easily, winking over at Harry. “Anyway, I got nothin’.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry shakes his head, ignoring the slight shake of Niall’s head, “it’s been working the past few days-”

“Not consistent though,” Niall adds in, and when Harry looks over he’s staring over at Zayn hard. Harry gets the feeling that Niall’s only saying it out loud for his benefit.

“Guess it’s enough,” Zayn says slowly, poking at the carpet with his fingertip, “that it’s worked at all, really.”

“Maybe,” Harry doesn’t want to say what he’s been thinking for the past few days, for the past few cities, but he can’t help himself, “maybe it was like, when you two are on the same wavelength when it works best? Like…”

“Like you about to die,” Zayn finishes flatly, Niall visibly flinching next to Harry. 

Harry feels like shit. But Liam is too careful and Louis is too harsh and someone has to help them out. 

“It’s a good point, and you both know it,” Harry laughs, trying to break the mood as he keeps his leg still so Niall’s sudden grip on his ankle doesn’t hurt. 

“It’s a shit point,” Niall finally says. Harry can tell by the twitch of Zayn’s jaw that he’s not gonna disagree.

“It’s a shit idea,” Harry feels frustrated, hates it so much whenever that part of himself bubbles up, “but a valid point.”

“Yeah,” Niall murmurs. “Listen.”

“Maybe we take a break?” Harry cuts him off, swinging his legs off of Niall when Niall pushes at him to stand. “Just a couple of days.”

“We’re almost to break,” Niall’s already got his hand on the door to leave. He clears his throat suddenly, shifting his glance over to Zayn with a guilty look crossing his features.

“Go,” Zayn nods, a soft chuckle coming out of his chest. “We’ll figure it out later, right, Hazza?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, waiting until Niall’s escaped before he pokes at Zayn with his foot, “what was that?”

“Well,” Zayn looks like he’s trying to decide if he’s going to tell Harry or not, finally groaning and scrubbing at his face with his hands, “Niall’s just been, ah, dying for a wank. He doesn’t feel like he can do it while we’re on tour.”

“Oh.” Harry feels like it would be betraying Niall in some way by laughing, but trying not to is proving difficult. “He… that’s a real shit side effect.”

“Wish we could turn it off, even if it’s for something fucking dumb like Niall tossing himself off.” Zayn’s eyes are bright, like he might start laughing at any second. Harry hasn’t seen him like that in ages.

“That’s why,” Harry slides down to the floor, rolling so he’s on his back next to Zayn, “we gotta practice, like, figure it out.”

“You sound like Liam,” Zayn says, reaching down to thumb at Harry’s eyebrow. “With his lists.”

“It’s gotta be me like,” Harry pauses, “helping? Your powers with Liam and Louis are too…”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, “get in the way, like.”

“Was thinking-” Harry starts tentatively, Zayn looking down at him like he’s about to tell him something awful, “maybe you come to LA with me? On break?”

“Huh,” Zayn looks off into the distance, and not surprised like Harry was expecting, “guess it’d be easier. Home’s not… it’d be easier.”

“Maybe…” Harry keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, “Could ask Niall to come. Not for the whole time, mind you, but.”

“Test things in a better environment.”

“Yeah!” Harry sits up then, unable to contain himself any further, “Zayn, you get it, right? I think it’ll help.”

“S’pose,” Zayn shrugs like he doesn’t care, but Harry knows what it means when the corner of his mouth pulls up like that. He can’t wait until he can tell Zayn, the both of them, that he told them so, after this all works. 

**

They get into LAX late, but it doesn’t stop the paps from being out in force. Harry feels like it’s his fault entirely, knows that it’s expected for him to jet back to LA the second they have a break. 

“Hey,” Harry reaches out carefully for Zayn when they’re safely in the backseat of the car, already moving and covered by the tinted windows Harry always requests special from the service. Zayn’s holding himself like he’s wound up tight, his jaw clenching visibly even in the shadowy lighting.

“Cheers, Harry,” Zayn looks over at him then, and his smile looks mostly genuine. “Just knackered.”

“Yeah.” Harry squeezes at Zayn’s shoulder, lets him lean into the touch for a moment before he says anything else. “Why don’t you have a kip, I’ll wake you when we’re to mine.”

“Think I will.” Zayn’s eyes are already sliding closed, but he pauses for a moment, a smirk forming on his lips when he says, “Just wanna let you know, I can see already I’m not getting on your bike with you.”

“Hey,” Harry wonders for a brief moment if he really did see something, because it was just this morning that Harry had called ahead to order a helmet for him special. 

“Just getting it out there,” Zayn’s eyes are still closed, and he chuckles, low. It’s like he’s perking up right in front of Harry’s eyes. 

“Wait,” Harry shakes Zayn’s shoulder until he squints over at him, “I’m starting to see stuff, too. It’s you, sleeping on a bench somewhere.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs. “Can’t sleep if you don’t shut up.”

“Is your new power lying? Because you could sleep in like, the eye of a hurricane.”

“Yeah, Haz,” Zayn’s eyes are closed again, and he’s already turning himself toward the window, “and it’s only for you.”

“That’s so funny I forgot to laugh,” Harry pulls out his phone so he won’t keep bothering Zayn, sees that since they landed and he put his phone back on he’s gotten a slew of notifications, most of them texts from the lads. Even Louis is uncharacteristically unsarcastic, just echoing Liam’s concerns on the group text wondering if they got in okay. He replies with a yes, taking a dark pic of Zayn sleeping without flash and including it. _Sleeping beauty!!_

After it sends, Harry opens a separate text to Niall, looking at the string of ones Niall had sent while they were on the plane.

_Zayn called_

_You were off somewhere at t airport_

_Invited me himself_

_Should I book it?_

_Going mad trying t decide_

Harry sucks in a breath, glancing over at Zayn’s sleeping form. In the days since Harry first brought it up, things had gone a bit tits up, a few bad days where nothing worked and Niall and Zayn were both trying their best not to go mental over it. Zayn had even flinched a bit when Harry brought up Niall joining them again. But if he’s gone on his own and decided, Harry can’t help but feel like maybe things will have to turn a corner. He almost wishes that it’s going to be something he does to make it right, for Zayn to see Harry doing something rubbish but at the same time, see a future where he’s all good too. Makes him want to try harder, be more helpful. 

_Book it_ Harry responds, _But give it a couple of days?_

Maybe Harry can even convince Zayn to at least go for one ride before Niall gets there. 

 

**the irishman’s nephew**

Niall’s grip on the club is class as he starts his swing, glad there’s only a slight breeze and the weather is perfect as they make their way through the course, every hole better than the last. It’s real relaxing, is what it is, and he’s just about to connect when it comes, like a flash -- 

_Don’t brick it, bro._

Zayn’s thought crowds into Niall’s brain before he realizes what’s happening, and not only does he miss the ball fucking entirely, the club also then slips out of his hands to sail backward.

“HORAN!” Harry yells, and when Niall turns Harry’s flat on his back on the green with Niall’s club just beyond his head.

“Christ, Harry,” Niall kneels carefully next to where Harry’s laid out, “did it hit ya?”

“No,” Harry mumbles, staring up at Niall, “but when I ducked it threw me right off.”

“Sorry,” Zayn calls out from his prone position on the cart, sounding not very sorry at all. Twat. Niall frowns, then thinks it harder. _Twat._

“Oi,” Zayn actually looks hurt, “I really didn’t know if it was gonna work. Wasn’t my plan to take out Hazza.”

“Sure sure,” Harry reaches up to grip Niall’s hand as they both stand, “likely story, Zayn. Wait, was it -” Niall almost starts laughing at how Harry’s head whips between them. “Did Zayn think something at you? Was that it?”

“See, was a good thing I did it,” Zayn yawns, stretching, “Harry agrees.”

“Harry does agree,” Harry nods, “but he now also has a sore arse.”

Niall shakes his head, feeling out of sorts. He’s only been in LA since the night before, and he’s already wondering if it’s a good idea. Even in the handful of days since he'd last seen everyone he’d gotten used to just, having his own thoughts again. Now he feels like he’s always got to keep a clear head, keeps slipping back into thinking any old thing he wants. Like now, when he realizes that he’s been standing there silently for too long, the smile long faded from Zayn’s face when he meets his eyes.

 _Soz,_ Niall pushes everything else out to think at Zayn, _just getting used to it again._

Zayn nods, almost imperceptibly, and Harry groans next to them.

“I’m really glad I can help you two,” he says, reaching down and then handing Niall his club, “but this is going to be right annoying for me.”

“It’s Zayn’s fault, really, for agreeing to get up and go with us.” Niall makes sure to say it out loud, for Harry’s sake.

“I have regrets.” Zayn narrows his eyes though, and something feels like it’s pushing through in Niall’s thoughts. But it’s faint, like a nothing. He can’t make it out. It’s a fight, to not let his shoulders sag with it. 

_Just a few more holes_ , Niall thinks, turning to Harry and nodding until Harry smiles at him hesitantly. 

“C’mon Harry,” Niall tries to keep his voice normal, “let’s see how much we can get in until we’re sweating our balls off.”

**

When Niall wakes up the next morning, he knows immediately that Zayn is still sleeping. Not just because the odds that Zayn is sleeping are usually pretty high, but because he feels… more settled. Or something. 

The night before, when they were all well pissed from the sangria Harry had insisted on making instead of just having some pints, Harry had somehow convinced Niall to move to the guest room next to Zayn’s. It had been a day of fits and starts, nothing they tried really working since the golf earlier. Fucking frustrating.

“I think,” Harry had said very seriously, his hands steepled like a twat, “that it’s important to our process.”

Which is both true and also pretty shit, but what isn’t these days. Niall figures it’s just always easier to try and accept it rather than fight it, because it’s fucking sucked, having to either avoid one of his best mates entirely or keep himself braindead to maintain any sort of real privacy.

Swinging his legs down, Niall goes for a piss and assesses the state of himself. Not too hungover, but he could do for a fry up. Harry will at least have eggs, probably. Hell, Niall would even settle for some fruit at this point.

When he gets to the kitchen, Niall’s rewarded when Harry’s got bread _and_ eggs. Even contemplates making some eggy bread as he gets out some pans and figures out that the weird silver box thing sitting on Harry’s counter is some sort of spaceship toaster. It feels like too much at the last minute, so Niall settles for a scramble.

He’s eating an apple and waiting for the pan to heat up for his eggs when that awareness settles over him again. Like he can feel Zayn coming before he’s there. 

_Want some eggs?_ Niall thinks, without even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yeah,” Zayn says from behind him as he walks into the kitchen, “if you don’t mind.”

 _On it._

It’s odd, Niall thinks as he cracks a couple of more eggs in the bowl, how in a way it’s easier sometimes when you don’t need to say shit out loud. It’s always been like that a bit with Zayn more so than the other lads even before everything started happening, and --

Niall freezes, Zayn inhaling sharply behind him.

“Well,” Zayn says slowly almost as if he’s afraid he’ll startle Niall, “makes sense, I guess.”

“Fucked up.” Niall starts beating the eggs, just to have something to do. “It’s all so fucked up.”

“Mate, you think I don’t know?” Zayn laughs, it sounding almost like he’s in disbelief. He touches his fingers lightly to Niall’s arm like he means to calm him, and it’s odd how it’s a weird sensation, like Zayn’s touch is hot, but it’s not registering on his arm. It’s like a flare of heat somewhere in his head. 

_Ow, fuck,_ Niall thinks, hoping it’ll make Zayn move his hand, but it’s like there’s radio silence. Zayn’s not blinking at him in recognition, and then it’s right there, clear.

_Fuck, can you hear me?_

“Yeah,” Niall says, shakily, feeling the rush of Zayn’s presence again when Zayn’s hand slips away.

“My scar,” Zayn turns his hand over to show Niall his palm, the edges a darker pink than the rest. “Like when I mess about with Louis.”

 _You didn’t hear me, did ya?_ Niall tries, watching Zayn’s face as he does.

Zayn stares at him, and it’s like before, when Zayn was trying to push his thoughts into Niall’s head but it was fuzzy and disjointed. He sighs.

“No.” 

Niall looks down, thinking already so he and Zayn can be on the same page before he raises his arm between them, Zayn’s hand hovering nearby. Zayn’s fingers are tentative, and as soon as he makes contact Niall starts thinking any old bollocks, the argument he had with Liam over him coming out here, the joke Willie told him on the way to the airport, anything.

Silence. Then,

 _Fuuuck,_ Zayn draws it out. _Breakfast first, yeah? Then we figure it out._

Niall moves his arm out of Zayn’s reach before he agrees in his head.

**

It’s mad, how things work. Not that Niall was expecting Zayn’s fucking lightning strike to come with an owner’s manual, but it’s mad that they’ve spent so long avoiding each other when things could be… better. In a way. 

_Should text Harry, yeah? Tell him?_ Zayn’s got one fingertip pressing into the side of Niall’s knee as they lounge by the pool. It’s taken a few hours, but they seem to have figured it out, even if things are a bit shaky. 

Skin on skin is the best, complete control between them when Zayn’s got his arm firmly pressing into Niall’s skin. It took a few goes before they realized it’s like a bit of practice, like the longer they have that control the easier it gets to handle things, even if it’s like now, with just one small touch, or even through clothes. 

“Nah,” Niall says out loud, his voice cracking from disuse. He realizes with a start that he can’t remember how long it’s been since he and Zayn have spoken. “Should be back from his meeting soon.”

“Thought it was lunch,” Zayn sounds rough as well, clearing his throat, “and it’s been hours.” He pushes his finger into the dip of Niall’s knee, sending tingles up and down Niall’s leg. _But it’s also Harry._

“Wonder if we,” Niall moves his leg out of Zayn’s reach, then focuses on recreating that feeling, like he’s closing a door in his brain. “Get it?”

 _Maybe we can try it this way,_ Niall thinks, Zayn staring at him for a full minute before he shakes his head.

“It’s like it’s muffled or summat,” Zayn sounds almost like he can’t really believe what he’s saying, “couldn’t get it all.”

 _Try saying something t’ me,_ Niall thinks, trying to be more open. Zayn nods.

 _How……this?_ It’s faint, and Niall knows that he’s missing the odd word, but it’s still there. 

_Sick,_ he thinks, grinning over at Zayn, who only hesitates a moment before grinning back.

“Gonna go for a float,” Niall places his hand flat on Zayn’s chest, his pinky catching at Zayn’s skin along the edge of his vest. “Let’s try it, yeah?”

 _Yeah,_ Zayn agrees, shoving at Niall’s shoulder and nodding over at the pool, _Get in_.

Harry has one of those floating rafts with a spot for a pint, so Niall snags a bottle from the outdoor fridge and settles in. It’s hot but not boiling, enough that the water feels nice where it laps at his skin over the edge. 

_Should put on suncream,_ is the first thing that comes through after a load of nonsense, and Niall flips Zayn off even though he’s got a point.

 _Not moving._ Niall sticks his hand in the water to try and turn himself, adjusting his Wayfarers on his face and trying to assess just how long he could make it without burning to a crisp.

_Five minutes, mate._

_Oi, stop listening in._ Niall wonders if it’s all of the proximity and practicing they’ve been doing, that makes it easier. 

_Probably does,_ Zayn answers the question Niall didn’t ask him.

_So you still hearing everything?_

_Trying not to._

Niall snorts. _How come I’m getting you clear through?_

_You’re not._

When Niall looks over, Zayn’s got his sunglasses off and he’s squinting over at Niall like he’s concentrating hard, a deep furrow in his brow. 

_So it’s like figuring how to only send you certain things like._

Zayn nods.

 _Alright, let’s do this._

It takes so much concentration that Niall’s sure he’ll end up with a splitting headache, but he surprisingly doesn’t, trying to sort through his thoughts and focusing on what he wants to send Zayn’s way. 

They’re midway through arguing over whether or not Liam’s going to propose to Sophia by the end of the tour when something happens. It’s sharp, almost like someone is poking him and he startles, flipping over into the water entirely. The float is upended over him, and it takes a moment of struggling before he’s breaking the surface of the water, sputtering.

“Niall, what the fuck?” Harry’s standing there at the pool edge, staring down at Niall with his eyes wide and his mouth forming a perfect circle. Looks like a right twat, and if Niall wasn’t so terrified most days now that Harry’s about to keel over dead, he’d pull him right down into the pool with him.

“Me what the fuck?” Niall hoists himself out of the pool, batting at Harry’s hand when he offers it. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I thought Zayn was asleep, so I gave him a little pinch,” Harry says slowly, even for him, “and then you had some sort of seizure out on the water.”

“We were talking, Harry,” Zayn sighs, his head in his hands, “I wasn’t sleeping, I was concentrating.”

“And I fucking felt it, you cunt.” Niall pinches at Harry’s arm until he squirms away, already feeling how stiff and red his skin is. 

“Less than helpful, mate,” Zayn grins, and then it’s in Niall’s head, _Might as well, yeah?_

“I think you broke it,” Niall puts on a big show of it, sighing and wrapping his arm around Harry, “can’t hear Zayn at all, now.”

“We were doing so well,” Zayn looks down, and Niall has to bite down into his lip so he doesn’t start laughing at what a shit actor Zayn is. 

“I didn’t know!” Harry looks between them, sagging into Niall’s grip. “I’m so sorry, maybe I can help bring it back?”

He sounds so sad that Niall nods when Zayn thinks, _It’s like yelling at a puppy or something_.

“Harry, we were just taking the piss.” Niall pinches at his side, ducking when Harry reaches to twist at Niall’s nipple. “Zayn and I figured some stuff out.”

“Touching helps.” Zayn reaches up and pokes at Harry’s chest where his shirt is hanging open. 

“Touching, eh?” Harry waggles his eyebrows suggestively, connecting with Niall’s nipple this time. 

“You’re the fucking worst, Hazza.” Niall laughs all the same. Even when things are shit, they’re not really shit. 

**

“How did you do this?” Harry eyes Niall when he walks in the room, holding a large container of aloe. “It’s like, just on your front.”

“How do you think?” Niall groans, “was lying on my back the whole time.”

“Hazza, you better be taking a picture to send,” Louis’s voice comes from where Niall’s chucked his phone next to him on the bed. 

“On it.” Harry slides the bottle between his thighs instead of doing what a normal person would do, and fecking _hand him the fucking aloe_ , before pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a pic of Niall. 

“Fuck both of you,” Niall raises two fingers anyway, keeping a mad look on his face and rolling a bit so Louis can see the line along Niall’s side where he turns from bright red to white. “Hazza, hand it over.”

“Fucking hell, Nialler, you ever heard of suncream?” Louis’s laughing a moment later, Harry raising his eyebrows at Niall and squirting some aloe on his fingers. 

“I was distracted, cunt.” Niall kicks his leg out to try and block Harry as he approaches. “Zayn had mentioned it, but we were making progress so I gave up.”

“It’s right annoying, Lou,” Harry touches his fingertips lightly to Niall’s shin. Niall hisses at the contact. Who knew fucking shins could get burned? “But it’s like, great. Think it’ll help loads.”

“Zayn feeling, ah,” Louis pauses, enough that Niall gets it.

“He’s outside having a smoke,” Niall says.

“Yeah, but--”

“I can try and muffle it a bit, it’s far enough anyway,” Niall closes his eyes as Harry moves his fingers in a circle. 

“Shit.”

“Told you it was great, Louis,” Harry hums to himself when he slides his hand up over Niall’s knee. 

“So is Zayn a bit more, you know. Like himself?”

“His wonderful, miserable self.” Harry answers, Niall grateful that Harry knows enough about how things have been going that it’s easier if he answers Louis while Niall tries to concentrate.

Concentrating so hard, apparently, that Niall doesn’t realize Zayn’s in the room until he hears his voice.

“Not as miserable as Louis.”

“There he is, the twat of the hour.”

“Louis,” Harry’s voice has an edge of warning to it, and Niall jiggles his leg to calm him even though it stings.

“S’alright, Harry,” Zayn laughs then, and then it’s in Niall’s thoughts, _Throws me off when Louis’s too nice. Feels better this way._

“Whatever,” Harry says, while Louis laughs, “hey, Zayn, you do this so that you two can practice, I gotta talk to Louis.”

“Oi, unhand me,” Louis says as Harry hands the aloe to Zayn. “This is Niall’s phone so I should be talking to Niall. Or Zayn. Guess what that means, Harry?”

“Means too bad,” Harry disappears through the door, “you two practice!”

“I can do this myself,” Niall mutters, reaching out for the bottle.

“Nah, you’re all stiff, it’s fine.” Zayn settles himself on the bed next to Niall, his touch cool on Niall’s skin. _Hold still._

“Alright,” Niall bites at his lip, surprised when Zayn doesn’t push through anything else as he carefully applies the aloe. “Am I missing something? I’ve got nothin’.”

“Thought it would be nice, for you to have a break.” Zayn shrugs, not looking up at Niall when he starts carefully applying the aloe to Niall’s chest, always making sure there’s some point of contact.

“Ta, Zayn.” Niall murmurs, feeling overcome and weirdly bereft over the radio silence in his head. Is there anything left that’s not fucked up?

“It’s better, like, but I still feel, I dunno.” Zayn takes a breath, fingers sliding up over Niall’s collarbone, “I know it’s still there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Niall concentrates for a second, closing his eyes and pushing one thought over, _Too bad it works best when you’re touching me, otherwise my wank problem would be set._

 _Fucking hell, Niall_. Zayn places his palm flat on Niall’s chest, laughing hard, the two of them cracking up until Harry speaks up from the doorway, sounding happier and more Harry than Niall’s heard him in weeks.

“Warms a lad’s heart, to see this.” 

“Please don’t have a cry,” Zayn rolls his eyes over at Niall, “when it’s just that this one’s up for it.”

“Oh. Well,” Harry shrugs and drapes himself carefully over them both, “who isn’t?”

**

“Niall,” Harry hands him some silverware, “can you ask Zayn how the chicken’s coming?”

“Harry,” Niall snorts, tossing the forks on the table, “you can literally take two steps to the door and ask him yourself.”

“It’s the principle of it, Niall.” Harry pokes at Niall’s chest for emphasis, “You two can’t let all your hard work over the last two weeks go to waste.”

“Yeah, me not asking Zayn how it’s going is going to ruin everything.”

“Niall.” Harry shakes his head. “When has any of this taken a turn that made sense?”

“Well.” Fair enough. Niall’s about to concentrate and ask Zayn when they both can hear Zayn yelling from outside.

“It’s almost done! I heard ya, Niall.”

“See?” Harry’s got this smug look on his face that Niall would love to slap right off.

“It’s not gonna be perfect, Harry.”

“Practice makes perrrrfect,” Harry singsongs, Niall wishing he could trip him without Zayn probably running in to prevent both of them from splitting their heads. 

“Whatever.” Niall feels like he’s right on the edge of a bad mood, annoyed at the state of himself. It’s just. They’ve really worked into a good rhythm of sorts over the last week. Like the more he and Zayn practice, the easier everything gets. The more Niall realizes just how much he’s missed Zayn, since it all started. Even though he was always in Niall’s head, Niall had felt like he had to keep pushing him away. It’s just that -- he’s not sure how it’s going to be in the go-go-go aspects of tour. 

“Hey,” Harry’s crowding him then, and Niall’s glad that it wasn’t Harry who could read his mind, since he’s already fecking ace at it as is. “Niall, it’s gonna be so great. Zayn’s doing so well with it all, don’t you think? It’s been good for him, this break.”

“It has.” Niall lets himself lean into Harry’s touch, aware that his guard is down enough that Zayn can probably hear him loud as a bell. 

“Good for you too,” Harry pulls back, grinning, “and hey, I’m still alive!”

“Christ, Harry.” Niall knows that Harry’s tentatively feeling like he can make jokes about it now, but Harry also didn’t get to see what he’d look like as a dead person.

“Too soon, I know.” Harry arranges the forks that Niall had thrown on the table earlier. “One day, though.”

“Yeah, one day when _I’m_ dead.” Niall shakes his head, pinching at Harry’s side.

“You two are gonna put me off eating,” Zayn comes around the corner with a plate filled with BBQ. “Not a good topic.”

 _Harry started it,_ Niall crowds the rest of the thoughts out of his brain, except for that. 

_Tour’s gonna be sick now, bro,_ Zayn’s got his hand squeezing gently at the back of Niall’s neck. Niall can almost feel it, the heat radiating from his scar. It’s not like Liam, not like Zayn’s controlling his mood, but. It feels like more than that. Like he’s calming his thoughts.

 _Wicked, yeah._ Niall looks back at Zayn, smiling.

“I have to say, I won’t miss this bit when we leave.” Harry grumbles. “Feeling left right out.”

“Don’t have a strop, Harry,” Zayn steps away from Niall to sling his arm around Harry’s neck, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Harry wipes at his face, but he looks well pleased.

“Alright alright,” Niall pulls out a chair, “let’s tuck in, we can all bond together later.”

**

“Heyyyy,” Harry frowns after he downs the rest of his pint, “I keep losing.” 

_Think he’s onto us, mate._ Zayn raises his eyebrow at Niall across the table, shifting his leg where Niall’s got his ankle hooked. 

“Just the luck of the deal, Hazza,” Niall shrugs, biting back a grin. _We’ll let him have one, to be fair._

“C’mon Harry, your deal. Give ‘em a good shuffle.” Zayn pushes the cards across the table to Harry with an encouraging tone to his voice. “I’ll go top us off.” When he stands up, Niall tries to concentrate on keeping his mind blocked. Just to see if he can. Zayn gives him a look from behind Harry, his eyebrow raised like a question. Niall ignores it.

“Nialllll,” Harry draws out his name, pushing the deck toward Niall, “cut.”

“Alright, Hazza.” Niall knocks his knuckles against the cards once before cutting them evenly and nudging them back in Harry’s direction. “You’re in a state.”

“You’re in a state,” Harry says immediately, grinning as he deals. He has to pause after one go round the table, though, sending Niall into fits. “Wait, what number was I on?”

“Cheating already, such a shame.” Niall shakes his head, assessing the state of his own self. Even though he and Zayn’ve been working Harry over, Niall’s still been drinking to calm himself. And just because it was there, really. And cold. Maybe he _is_ in a state. 

“I’ve got too much dignity to cheat, Niall Horan,” Harry announces, it cutting through Niall’s thoughts. 

“Think you’re too stupid to cheat.” 

“Well,” Harry leans back, his eyes nearly entirely closed, “someone’s getting mean. Need a snack, Niall?”

“Need you to shut your mouth.” Niall laughs so Harry’ll know it’s not intended to wound, feeling a bit like he’s unraveling. He glances over at Zayn’s pint, sweating condensation in a perfect round under his glass. He must be stone sober at this point. 

_Been trying to give getting fucked a rest, while we practice,_ slices through Niall’s brain, like Zayn’s fecking whispering in his ear or something. 

“That why you still have so much of your stash left?” Niall asks out loud when Zayn comes into view behind Harry, setting down fresh drinks for them both.

“You noticed, yeah?” Zayn tilts his head over at Niall as he sits back down easily, fluid like he’s missing some bones and so the opposite of the human limb hurricane still valiantly trying to deal for the third time next to them. 

“When I was doing my walkabout earlier, saw it on your case.” Niall had been surprised that it looked like Zayn hadn’t smoked up in days. _But we have been busy, I suppose,_ Niall pushes the thought forward, Zayn nodding already.

“Dunno,” Zayn shrugs. _Don’t think it makes a difference, but maybe I gotta be more…_

“Clear?” Niall finishes, matching the grin Zayn shoots over at him.

“You know, it’s honestly like putting on a program halfway through and missing all the important bits,” Harry slurs a bit when he interrupts, his eyes wide when they meet Niall’s. 

“Thought you wanted us to improve, yeah?” Zayn scoots forward a bit, the skin of his leg cold when it presses against Niall’s under the table. Niall feels dizzy from the impact of it, almost like he’s getting more pissed without even touching his drink. _Don’t ask me for fours_. 

“I did,” Harry pouts, “but now I’m well annoyed.”

“Annoy-ing, more like.” Niall ignores the sharp warning from Zayn crowding in his brain, “Zayn, got any fours?” Niall’s only got one in his hand, and Zayn sighs when he pushes three across the table. “Yeeeeeah.”

“I’m gonna sick up on myself at this point.” Harry takes a long swig of his drink, making a face. “I feel like these rules are slightly biased.”

“Just the luck of the deal, Haz,” Zayn says lightly, following it up with a very loud, _Don’t be a fucking twat, Ni._

Niall doesn’t know what he’s doing, feeling like he’s suddenly gone straight out his head into a monster of a mood despite Hazza and Zayn pulling him off it earlier, not quite sure why. He takes a deep breath and a long long pull of his drink when Harry gets a Queen off Zayn, longer than necessary, trying to sort through his thoughts to assess himself and not let Zayn catch anything. It’s infinitely harder while he’s pissed. _Fuck,_ is slipping through before he can snatch it back, and then the bone of Zayn’s ankle is digging into his just on the edge of too hard.

“Niall,” Harry sounds so slow he’s practically talking backwards, “you look a bit peaked.”

“He’s good, I think.” Zayn clears his throat. _Listen, it can’t get any worse, right? And we can talk now._

 _I s’pose, in loads of ways,_ Niall meets Zayn’s eyes across the table, sliding his leg up so his ankle bumps up and over Zayn’s. Like a gesture, really. He’s pissed and tired and scared for what’s to come, so he relaxes everything, like it’s nothing. Like it’s before. 

Zayn blinks, slowly, and Niall knows he’s not listening. Trying not to.

**

It’s only been since right before he left for the airport, but Niall feels like he’s worked up. Like he’s been on wank shutdown and he’ll crawl out of his skin if he can’t get a shag or a hand on himself. Drinking like this always gets him a bit up for it, and by the time he hits the bed it’s all he can do to deal with his fecking too tight jeans. Wishes he had kept his shorts on earlier after his swim. And it doesn’t fucking help that Zayn hadn’t stopped rubbing his leg all over his all night. Niall knows it was to help calm him down, but by the end it was driving him fucking mad. 

He’s not actually sure how he got to the bed, or where the others are. _Fuuuuck_. He’s already half hard when he gets a hand down his pants and over himself, circling his palm over the head of his cock before stroking back down. It’s gotta be okay, Zayn has to be either sleeping or too far away or maybe Niall can just, he gasps a little when he thumbs over his slit, push Zayn out so he won’t hear. Niall’s actually glad he’s fucked up at the moment, because even at home he feels like he hasn’t been able to really get off in a good way, not since -- 

It was brief, when it happened, Niall not even sure if it had at the time, doesn’t much think about it. But. He’d been out with Harry and was tossing off the next morning when he had just had an idle thought, just wondered if Zayn could hear. And it, he heard --

_Fuuuuck, ohhhh._

It had been low and questioning, like even in Zayn’s thoughts his voice got rough with sleep, that first time Niall felt Zayn’s thoughts push into his own. Something about the tenor of it traveled up Niall’s spine for a brief moment, wetness gathering at the head of his prick before he even registered anything that was going on. 

Like now, when he’s hard as fuck and leaking already as he works himself fast, just from letting himself think about it. It’s fucked, all of it, but he’s chasing after something that he wants and he’s gonna get it before he can think too hard about what he’s really doing.

He wishes he’d thought to push his jeans down more, but the friction of how everything’s making the head of his cock slide up against his abs on every stroke is getting him closer, so maybe it’s more that newness of a wank rather than something Zayn thought at him once that makes him come so hard he can barely catch it all with his hand cupped over the head, breathing hard enough that he wonders where the fuck his inhaler is. 

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Niall exhales into the pillow and turns his head to watch the clock for a solid five minutes to even himself out, finally wrinkling his nose when he reaches over for some tissues to clean himself up. He’s just got his prick tucked back into his pants when the door opens and Niall freezes, searching his thoughts for anything Zayn. It’s empty, though. Except for Harry, draping himself over Niall like a big dead weight.

“Niall, I think I’m dying,” Harry pets at the side of Niall’s face, “and it smells in here.”

“Yeah, take a big deep breath,” Niall laughs in spite of himself, “soak it all in, Harry, I just busted a nut in here.”

“Gross,” Harry murmurs, unmoving. “Gonna sleep here. Am I in a wet spot?”

“Everywhere is a wet spot,” Niall groans, trying to shove at Harry. “Go sleep with Zayn.”

“Can’t.” Harry shifts and somehow makes everything even more fucking uncomfortable. “Was playing War with him and he got real weird. Then I realized I was tired so I left him to it.”

“Left him to what?” Niall closes his eyes, feeling fucked even further. He tries to search out Zayn but he’s getting nothing. 

“Think he’s gonna smoke out my whole sitting room, my cleaner’s gonna have a fit.” Harry drifts off for a moment, breathing deeply like he’s ready to launch into a full snore. Niall feels cold suddenly despite the giant Harry blanket on top of him, somehow maneuvering them both until they’re on opposite sides of the bed. Niall tries.

_Zayn?_

It feels like fucking forever before he gets anything back, and when he does, it’s slow and Niall can almost taste the curls of smoke. 

_S’alright Niall, I heard fuck all._ Then,

_Think it’s still gonna be okay, yeah?_

**

“This place is gonna be siiiiick.” Liam’s all manic energy backstage, keeps coming up behind Niall to drum on his shoulders and just be -- it just feels like a lot. Niall’s not even in a strop, he’s just feeling weirdly overwhelmed.

“Sold out for three fucking nights,” Louis even looks pumped up, Niall wonders if they really all did fucking need this break. “Payno, what’s the capacity for this one?”

“Dunno, I think it’s--” Liam’s got his face screwed up, and Niall sighs. 

“It’s ninety two.” Niall’s hair is still wet from the shower he took as soon as they got to the stadium, the three of them running so late that he hadn’t had time to stop by the hotel, even though Paul had sent a text ages before that they were checked in already. He runs his fingers through it, shaking his hand out in Louis’s direction and earning an elbow to his junk for it in the process.

“Wicked.” Louis leans over and twists at Niall’s nipple, hard, before continuing calmly. “Makes those three nights in Boston look like a fucking whatever.”

“Ninety two for three nights, can you even imagine all of them singing to you come Saturday? It’s more than Chicago for mine, yeah?” Liam’s face settles into the same look of contentedness that he’s had since then, since ages ago really. But Niall closes his eyes and thinks about it, how the whole stadium had sung Liam a proper Happy Birthday.

“Yeah, think that was around sixty?” Niall takes a swig of the Red Bull balanced next to him and pulls it up on his phone. “Yeah, ‘round that.”

“Gonna be so loud, Niall.” Liam’s grinning. “So fucking loud.”

“It’s really a blessing that Zayn can’t hear everyone’s thoughts, or else a place like this would make his head explode,” Louis shakes his head, “just all over.”

“That’s not how it works, Louis.” Liam’s got his arms crossed now as he stands to face Louis, looking very serious, and Niall bites his cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Ah, it’s not in your notebook then,” Louis keeps his eyes wide, and Niall knows that Zayn must look better if Louis feels good enough to take the piss like this. “If I write it in there, does that make it true?”

“It’s just helpful _hints_ , how else were we supposed to help Zayn?” Liam’s voice goes up a little at the end, and Niall glances down at where Harry’s passed out in the corner, half propped up on one of their cases. He doesn’t move though, clearly out cold. Niall wonders where Zayn is, if he’s still having a shower, if he’s close enough. 

_Was gonna come in, but not if those two are on it,_ crowds into Niall’s thoughts, and Niall has to bite his lip to stop laughing. 

_Where are ya?_

There’s a pause, and then it’s a bit faint, _Just outside the door, see?_

 _See what?_ Niall thinks, but when he glances over he can see a flash of Zayn’s hand in the doorway, scar looking fainter than normal. _Just come in_.

 _Yeah, could do for a quick kip before the show._ Zayn’s coming through the doorway then, Niall startling a bit because he’s clean shaven again. It makes Zayn look younger, makes Niall feel this weird burst of protective feelings well up in his chest when his eyes meet his. 

“It was real helpful, Li, thanks.” Zayn squeezes at the back of Liam’s neck when he passes him, presses his forehead to Liam’s for a second. It’s amazing, as Niall watches, doesn’t think he’s ever paid attention to it before or if it’s always been like this since Zayn got his powers, but it’s like they both even out. Liam’s face settles into something less manic and he sits down in one of the chairs, a flush coloring his cheeks like he’s pleased. 

“Well it’s no fun for me if you’re gonna make Payno calm down,” Louis has that whine to his voice that he gets usually round the second half of a long tour, and he swats at Zayn when Zayn passes him to sprawl out next to Niall on the couch. 

“I think it’s great,” Liam says, already pulling out his phone, “c’mon, Lou, let’s do a selfie, the lads are glad to be back, yeah?” 

“Fine,” Louis sounds like he’s rolling his eyes even with his back to Niall, and Zayn’s laughing suddenly, gone still next to Niall when Liam clears his throat.

“Erm, I --” He adjusts the snapback on his head and blinks up at Louis, “it says _Shit_ on your forehead?”

“Fucking,” Louis curses, grabbing at Liam’s phone, and when he turns Niall can see it, how there’s gaps in his chest tattoo and script on his forehead, the _Shit_ standing out dark under his fringe. Zayn’s gone bright red, and when Niall nudges his knee over until Zayn gets the hint and rests his palm lightly on his thigh, it’s just a burst of low, slow laughter rolling through his brain. 

“What’s happening?” Harry’s sleepy voice comes from the corner, him laughing before he’s even fully sat up, Louis sputtering with such force that Niall’s not sure how the whole room isn’t covered in his spit at this point. 

“Zayn is dead, that’s what’s happening. Did Niall put you up to this? All your secret talkings?” Louis’s voice is relatively mild, considering, but something in it flips everything around, the room going quiet. 

_You can blame it on me, if y’want?_ Niall jiggles his leg so it shakes under Zayn’s light touch, wonders idly if Zayn’s being extra careful with it because of the night before. It slips through before he realizes, wishes he had thought to try and at least sort of bloody block it.

 _I can take it,_ is what Zayn thinks at him, his hand hovering up above Niall’s leg for a second before Zayn glances over, his eyelashes fluttering off in an odd rhythm before he presses it back down deliberately, harder than before. 

Niall keeps himself very, very still. He doesn’t think a fucking thing.

“Just thought it’d be funny, Lou,” Zayn says evenly, “plus you were being a shit.”

“He sort of has a point?” Liam says, wincing when Louis pops his shoulder and Harry laughs loudly in the corner. At least, when Louis turns back again his forehead is clear. “Well, he _did_ ,” Liam insists, rubbing at his arm before slinging it around Louis’s shoulder and holding up his phone. 

“Fucking twats, all of you,” Louis says through his smile as Liam snaps the pic. 

“You love it,” Harry singsongs, already sounding half asleep again. Niall takes another sip of his Red Bull, thinks about going on a Twitter spree or something to harness the energy he feels building up in his arms and legs. 

_Gonna close my eyes._ Zayn’s moving his hand now, slumped over like his bones have gone missing while Louis and Liam bicker quietly across the room.

 _Yeah,_ Niall nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket, knows it’ll be harder to control if he’s reading all the weird shit he gets. _Here, so I can --_ he reaches over and settles his hand on Zayn’s hip, fingers slipping just underneath his vest so he’s touching Zayn’s warm skin. 

_Easier,_ it’s like Zayn’s humming contentedly in his mind, something Niall’s not sure he’s heard before. Before he can think too hard on it, he presses his fingers over so they slot into the dip of Zayn’s hipbone, blocking everything so Zayn won’t have to hear it.

**

 _Think Hazza’s lost it._ Niall’s not sure where Zayn is but he agrees, Harry already shaking out his head and spitting out his fucking water everywhere before they’ve even hit four songs into the set. Niall gets it, though, how after two shows it’s like this is the loudest one they’ve had yet. 

It’s nice that they’ve had this time too, Niall thinks that he and Zayn have figured out the best way to use the stage and still mostly control everything. Like an orbital path or something. Keeps them in check, Niall knowing when he needs to get closer, maybe wrap his hand around Zayn’s elbow. Like a weird recharge.

Niall knows that Harry’s doing it mostly for his benefit, coming up behind him to do some sort of off rhythm shimmy that sets Liam off laughing so hard he forgets to start singing. He’d even woken Niall up that morning with a proper fry up he requested from the hotel special, singing loudly until Niall had told him to shut up, Zayn could hear him clear across the whole bloody floor. 

_Just wants to make my day special, that so bad?_ Niall spins on the end of the catwalk and gives the crowd a thumbs up, finally spotting Zayn sitting upstage. 

_No,_ Zayn’s laughing then, _watch out_.

 _Why?_ Niall barely gets the thought out when Harry’s behind him again, plunking a crown on his head.

“For the birthday boy!!” Harry yells into his mic, him and Liam doing some sort of frenzied dance that Niall hopes they didn’t practice because it’s absolute shit. The crowd goes absolutely mental at that, and Louis takes advantage to come up next to them and take control.

“Alright, before these two go even more mad, how about we all sing to the birthday boy, c’mon loves.” He’s leading them then, and Niall’s not sure what’s louder, the ninety thousand people and all his best mates singing to him all together, so loud that he knocks out his in ears to hear it right, or how he can almost barely hear them from how loud Zayn’s singing in his mind. He glances back at where Zayn’s made his way up the catwalk to stand with them, a smile on his face and his mouth unmoving. 

Niall’s not sure if Zayn’s feeding off of Liam’s energy or vice versa or if it’s just all of them, if Zayn has something to do with the brightness of Louis’s eyes like he gets when he’s in the right zone of pissed and happy, or if there’s a reason he’s got a stabilizing hand on Harry’s sleeve, fingers gripped tight like maybe Harry’s about to trip over his own excitement. How even though the song is over and people are going mad screaming while Niall attempts to say a thank you speech, Zayn’s singing it again. It’s got a lilt to it, crowding through the corners of Niall’s mind until it’s all he hears.

“Thank you all,” he manages to get out, “it means so much.” He waves then, Zayn done singing and the crowd more deafening than before, before he pulls everyone together into a group huddle, Harry pushing him into the middle at the last second. 

“Sick!” Liam’s yelling, “They love you, mate.” 

Harry and Louis are going on about some bollocks too, Niall feeling like he’s jumping out of his skin with it all when Zayn reaches out calmly to press his fingers against his chest, quick. Beep beep boop. His fingers linger on Niall’s stomach at the end, that weird heat flaring in Niall’s brain until he feels so evened out he has to lean over and rest his forehead against Liam’s solid shoulder. 

_Best show yet, legend,_ Niall manages to think, a million other thoughts pushing around until he’s certain that he must be talking out loud.

**

Niall’s not sure how many he’s had but it’s definitely more than he had while he was at Harry’s, the room tipping a bit on its side when he makes his way through the crowd. It’s actually a small do, the big one planned for when they’re in Vegas and he and Liam can share the honors. A relatively small do. Niall recognizes most of the faces, even though he knows that some of them are Harry’s LA friends he’s only met a handful of times. 

It’s weird, how almost just the show was enough to keep him buzzed up, a part of him coming down from the high of everything now that the room somewhere deep in their hotel is crowded and hot, sweat trickling down the small of his back like they’re still on stage.

He’s just finished getting a piggyback ride off of Dan when he can feel that Zayn is nearby, even if he can’t hear a fecking thing. He finds him in a corner huddled up with Louis, and when he gets closer he can smell the sweet sting of weed hit his nostrils.

 _Fuck off for a smoke?_ he thinks, coming up behind them and grinning when Zayn startles a bit in his chair, Louis laughing next to him.

“Fuck, Zayn, you getting paranoid?” Louis asks, clapping Zayn hard on his back before he spots Niall. “Niall, fuck you, are you thinking filth right now and throwing Zayn into fits? You are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, just absolute mess, pissing on people and stuff,” Niall can hear how his whole brain slurs when he focuses on saying that and not thinking about anything else, though it feels like his mind is crying with the effort of not recalling Zayn’s voice again. Fucking fuck.

“Knew it, knew you’re a nasty bastard.” Louis seems higher than usual suddenly, the quirk of Zayn’s lip seeming like an explanation. “Well, you can’t piss on me.”

“Fuck, I’m so disappointed.” Niall makes an exaggerated sigh before launching himself onto the settee next to them. _Sorry if I’m a mess, my mind’s fucked._

 _I’ll only listen if you want me to,_ is the confusing as shit response that trips up in the tangled mess Niall’s got going on in his head. He jerks his neck up from where it’s slumped against Louis’s arm, Zayn’s eyes bright and challenging despite the fact that they look like they’re sliding down his bloody face. 

_Dunno, maybe I don’t have a choice,_ is all that Niall can force his mind into saying, Zayn’s eyes going wide for a brief moment before he licks his lips.

 _Thought the point now was that you do?_ Zayn’s brow is furrowed up, his gaze questioning when he leans back. He’s not touching Niall anywhere, but it feels the opposite.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Louis interrupts suddenly, “hey fuckfaces, _no one else can hear you_.”

“Who says we’re talking,” Niall starts, but then Zayn’s reaching over, tapping at Louis’s arm once before it falls like a dead weight on Niall’s stomach. 

“Fucking fuck,” Louis sounds a terrifying mix of annoyed and panicked, “you can’t just give a bloke a dead fucking arm.”

“Sorry Lou,” Zayn mumbles, sounding anything but when he taps at it again, Louis reaching out to pinch at his side hard once he can use his arm again. 

_You’re in for it for that._ Niall reaches up to pat at Louis’s head clumsily, wrinkling his nose at how much shit he put in it after the show.

 _Louis wouldn’t._ Zayn shrugs, running his finger up and down Louis’s arm, Niall tracking the skull as it slides up to Louis’s shoulder. _Not with me._

 _Suppose that’s true, you get special treatment from us all don’t you?_ Niall knows his thoughts are running together, can’t make heads nor tails of a fucking thing except for how everything is true. He wonders if any of them had been struck by some charged fucking lightning it would turn out this way, so much about how… he’s not even sure, pushing everything he’s thinking like he’s inside out for Zayn to see and hear and feel. 

“Fuck, should I have had them do it here? It looks fucking sick, bro.” Louis twists his arm out for Zayn to see, Niall wanting to laugh at how it’s like two seconds ago he wasn’t about to fucking choke Zayn out. 

“Should’ve had me move it around a bit before you got pictured,” Zayn’s looking at it intently, like he’s entirely focused on Louis even though all Niall can hear is him thinking, _Nah, think we’d still hear each other even if you’d gotten the shit end of the storm._

“Next one I get, yeah?” Louis’s asking, and Zayn nods, slowly dragging it to Louis’s wrist again while Niall tips his head back, wondering how much longer he’s got to stay. It’s one in the morning and it’s not his birthday anymore. He’s tired. 

**

“Where’d Louis go?” Niall asks when he and Zayn stumble together into the tiny as fuck service lift somewhere in the back of the hotel. Niall’s not sure how they got there, really, just knows that he’d dozed off at some point and woke up to Zayn’s voice in his head telling him to get up, they should go up to their rooms. 

“He and Liam and Harry went off with Jeff and some people,” Zayn shrugs, “your mind was so quiet, I dunno. Didn’t want to wake you. Could find out where they are, if you’re up for it?”

 _I’m knackered,_ Niall slips into his mind, because it’s easier and quieter and wishes he could do it more often. _Hey, this’ll be fucking ace next time one of us is on vocal rest, yeah?_

Zayn laughs, speaking out loud, “Don’t fucking jinx us, mate.”

“Just saying, it’d be helpful. It’s too bad you can’t like transfer powers, innit? Harry’d be better off.” Niall catches himself at that, Zayn freezing with the card to get them to their floor hovering over the slot. 

“I think Harry’s is useful,” is all Zayn says, his voice quiet. “Think they’re all just fine.”

“I didn’t --” Niall starts, but Zayn’s just shaking his head before jamming the card in the slot a few times before the light turns green, jabbing 22 with his finger and glancing over at Niall when the doors close. 

Niall shuffles until he’s propped himself up in the corner, looking over at the cut of Zayn’s profile. _Soz._

 _I like it._ Zayn doesn’t look at him _Was fucking awful at first. But now that we can stop sometimes, I like it._

Niall stares at him, at how carefully Zayn’s holding himself. He tries his best to close his mind off, because he’s trapped in a place where he’s not sure if it’s the best or worst bloody thing that’s ever happened to him. 

The lift lurches then, hard enough that Niall loses his balance and knocks into Zayn’s shoulder. It does it again, Niall reaching for the wall when it stops entirely. It’s a small lift, small enough that even with the two of them it feels tight, and Niall bites at his lip so hard he tastes blood. 

There’s a moment when Zayn stares at Niall, his hand reaching out for the panel when there’s something there in Niall’s mind, _You okay? I’m calling._

Niall feels like he blanks out, unable to hear anything but the muffled sounds of Zayn talking to someone and his own heartbeat. He’s been in plenty of stuck lifts before, far too many for his liking, and much more crowded up than this one. But he feels like he can’t control it, feels the anxiety rise in his veins, pushing out the alcohol that was making everything warm and safe. 

“Some arse shut off something, it’ll be back up in a mo,” Zayn is in front of Niall suddenly, speaking slow and calm. “Niall.” 

Niall stares back at him, unable to stop all of his panicked thoughts, not to close them off, not to stop them, not to even reach up and touch Zayn. 

“Niall?” Zayn looks well upset now, and Niall knows that he can hear all of it. Everything. Zayn reaches out, pressing his hand to Niall’s chest, and it’s like nothing. “Niall, are you getting anything I’m saying?”

Niall just shakes his head, blinking and too far gone to be embarrassed when the wet that was gathering in his eyes escapes, trickling down his cheek. 

“I can’t,” Zayn shakes his head, moving his hand up enough that his fingers graze at Niall’s neck, “it’s like there’s too much for me to-” He presses his hand directly to Niall’s cheek, and even though Niall registers the rough edge of his scar it’s like before, like if just anyone touched him. 

“Niall,” Zayn’s sounding less calm now, and he steps forward to crowd Niall into the corner again, his body a heavy weight against him. “Tell me what to do, I dunno how…”

Niall tries to take a deep breath but it’s shallow as fuck, the shudder of it echoing between them when Zayn’s face is against his forehead, skin feeling damp like he’s been hot all night and then stepped out into cool air. He turns his head to press his lips against Niall’s temple and it’s enough of a grounding force that at the very least Niall feels like he can reach up and gather the sides of Zayn’s flannel in his fists, pulling him closer.

“That do anything? It’s still like, a mess,” Zayn mumbles against Niall’s face, tipping his head down and pushing his mouth against Niall’s cheek, “I wish I could get in there, like, and _help_.” When he talks, his mouth catches on the side of Niall’s, and Niall feels a weird spark in his head, like everything in his mind fritzes out for a second. 

Zayn must feel it too, because he goes still. 

“Did that-” Zayn starts, his mouth catching again with a spark in Niall’s head before Zayn takes a deep breath and presses his lips carefully to Niall’s. Just resting there for a second. 

The exact moment Niall opens his mouth against Zayn’s the take a breath, it’s like a shower of sparks goes off in his mind, and from the way Zayn’s hand slams against the wall of the lift next to Niall’s head, he knows that it wasn’t only in his thoughts. 

Niall’s mind goes entirely blank as soon as Zayn’s careful mouth turns into something more like a snog, slowly dragging his tongue along the seam of Niall’s lips before licking into his mouth. It’s like everything before never happened, full stop, replaced by this new thing that’s like. It’s a bright flash of something. 

Zayn’s kissing him lazily, only pushing further when Niall can finally feel the last of the tension ease out of his body and into Zayn’s mouth. The lift moves again and Zayn stumbles into Niall, the muttered _sorry_ louder than anything else has ever been in Niall’s thoughts.

 _Fuck,_ Niall thinks, when Zayn doesn’t stop and presses his hand to the side of Niall’s face, the searing heat from his scar making Niall’s mind go white and hot even though Zayn’s palm is cool where it touches Niall’s cheek. 

_Better?_ Zayn’s voice is ragged in his brain, and when the lift stops he pulls away, Niall pushing down the urge to groan out loud, knows that Zayn is hearing it anyway. Fuck.

“Um, you should go to bed?” Zayn has his hand firmly around Niall’s elbow, somehow propelling them to Niall’s room. It feels wrong, to hear Zayn’s voice out loud, like anyone can hear it. 

“Yeah, I’m still --” Niall doesn’t know if he’s still pissed or not, swaying on his feet when Zayn’s suddenly producing his room key, Niall not even sure how he got it off him, and leading Niall into the room with only a small stumble that reminds Niall just how fucked Zayn must still be.

“Gonna,” Zayn whispers, blinking like he’s unsure as Niall kicks off his trainers. 

“Just.” Niall taps his finger against his temple, knows his mind is a mix of _what the fuck_ and _snog me again to see what happens_ , waits for Zayn to decide.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods slowly, hopping on one foot when he takes off his boots which sends Niall off into fits of laughter. _Fuck off, I’m still pissed and whatever the fuck that-_

Niall pushes Zayn before he can finish his thought, the two of them landing on the bed in a tangle of limbs before Niall’s able to get his mouth on Zayn’s again, the shock of their minds bottoming out too much for anything to really happen. Niall rolls them so he’s able to slot his leg in between Zayn’s, kissing him messy and open just to chase the feeling in his mind, like everything’s open between them. Bloody fucking hell. 

_Wish we had known,_ Niall gets a hand up to tug at Zayn’s hair so he can angle him how he likes, _would’ve made practicing easier, yeah?_

 _What’s even happening?_ Zayn pulls back, his eyes dark and unfocused in the dim moonlight from the window. He reaches up and thumbs at Niall’s bottom lip, Niall surprised that even that sends him off in a million different directions, something finally registering with his dick. He inhales, a sharp sound that sets off Zayn laughing.

 _So fucking mad, this._ Zayn runs the rasp of his stubble against Niall’s jaw before kissing him again, slow and even and tentative. It’s what Niall was waiting for earlier, that calm to his thoughts, and he pushes himself so he’s wrapped around Zayn, too pissed to care about how he’s half hard in his too tight fucking jeans, Zayn’s cock nudging against his hip whenever he rocks down to snog him deeper. 

_Don’t have a strop if I pass out,_ is the last thought Niall’s able to get out of his head and into Zayn’s. Or at least somewhere between them, Zayn’s lips moving slow along his jaw and his scar pressed to the side of his hip, really bloody feeling it. 

 

**the last battle**

Zayn’s stirred awake early as fuck by one sliver of sunlight that hits him right in the eyes, knowing before he even attempts opening them that he’s got a giant hangover. It’s not the first time he wishes that Louis could reverse and Zap him back into shape sometimes. Not that anything is permanent or all figured out, if Zayn doesn’t know that by now then he should just fuck off forever and go live in the mountains or something. 

His eyes still closed, the bed shifts slightly next to him and Zayn freezes, everything from the night before flooding into his mind again. Niall was so fucked up, his mind going so fast that it was all Zayn could do to not have a panic himself. Zayn would try anything in that moment. It’s fucked, how even when Zayn thinks he’s figured everything out about a power, there’s still more round the corner. 

Or maybe with Niall, it’s different. Zayn can’t help but worry that there will be some lingering weirdness bleeding into things between them, Zayn unsure how either of them really feel about anything. Zayn would actually like a fucking heads up over how _he_ feels. 

They were finally learning how to be around each other again, Zayn grateful and realizing just how important Niall is to him, how important they all are, really. But Niall. Zayn doesn’t want anything to be fucked up, knows that he can’t handle that again. Just as much as he knows that they can’t avoid it. Or that from what he remembers, he really liked what happened. How sick it felt, all over.

Once he’s certain that the sun and his overloaded mind won’t let him fall back asleep, Zayn opens his eyes and stretches carefully, sitting up and looking down at Niall, who’s got his face pushed down half in the pillow and is still breathing deep. Zayn can’t hear a thing, knows he’s not playing at it. 

Niall’s got his knee pushed out and pressed into the side of Niall’s thigh, the scar swollen and warm where it’s poked out of the duvet. Zayn curls his fingers into a tentative fist, his fingertips brushing against the edges of his own scar. He wonders, then, if maybe. He knows it won’t, but that doesn’t stop the little bubble of hope that pops up in his chest at the thought of it. Zap, Niall. You woke up and now you never have to get that wrinkle in your brow over your knee again, won’t be grimacing quietly when you think no one notices.

That’s one of the things Zayn’s noticed but not mentioned to anyone, especially Niall -- just how much Niall hides from the lads about that shit. Zayn had never known. Sometimes he wonders if Niall would have to be on fire before he’d ever admit to being in pain or proper complaining over something. 

Reaching out carefully, Zayn wishes he could press his palm to Niall’s forehead and fix his claustrophobia, but he knows that would be a bigger disappointment if it didn’t work. Lining up their scars as best he’s able, Zayn presses his hand forward until they touch. Nothing.

At least, not with Niall’s leg. 

_Fuuuuck, me fucking head._ Niall pushes back against Zayn’s hand, and Zayn hears it, feels it, when he registers the touch. 

“Sorry,” Zayn says, when Niall’s eyes flutter open and focus on him. There are dark circles almost like bruises under his eyes, and Zayn hopes it’s just a weird shadow. Zayn knows he shouldn’t, but he listens carefully, prodding at Niall’s thoughts to see if --

“Was fucking mental, last night.” Niall yawns, scrubbing at his face with his mind a jumble that Zayn can’t process.

“Are we….?” Zayn trails off, unsure how to even ask. Or what he’s even asking. Fuck. 

“Hey,” Niall reaches up to push at Zayn’s hand until Zayn turns to meet his eyes. “It’s okay, alright? What’s one other weird thing? We’re still…”

 _Us._ Niall finishes his thought in his head, and Zayn exhales, ignoring how even though he can hear Niall’s not lying about it there’s still a hint of something that Niall’s blocking from him. Which is fine, really, because there’s a piece of the back of Zayn’s mind that’s just sort of. Yelling, like. Full nonsense. 

Zayn’s about to try and vocalize some of it, Niall’s eyes still locked on his and his own mind blank save that bit where it seems that he’s hiding loads, but then his phone goes off on the side table. It’s loud and startling, and Zayn jumps so much at first that Niall starts laughing, doesn’t stop even when Zayn answers, scowling over at him.

“Harry, what?” Zayn keeps his voice flat, reaching down to shove at Niall’s shoulder and get him to stuff it. 

**

“Lads,” Harry’s grinning around all of them as they’re strewn about the pool, “this is like when we started, right? Only it’s with a pool and much better weather.”

“Hazza, thought we talked yesterday about the seen and not heard clause that’s in our contract,” Louis raises his aviators and catches Zayn’s eye before winking. “Real fine print.”

“I think it’s been great so far, Harry,” Liam pulls himself out of the pool and shakes so hard that Zayn can feel a drop of water hit his foot. “Good lads getaway.”

Zayn’s not sure how long Harry had it planned or if it was a last minute though he threw at the wall, but he’d managed to herd them all back to his for the break they’ve got for a couple of days, claiming it’d be good for all of them. Zayn’s glad for it, but also he’s barely been able to pin down Niall, afraid that he’s avoiding him by always either fucking off with Harry to some other part of the house or tackling Liam in some sort of weird neverending wrestling match.

“Tell me Liam, is it a getaway if it’s actually Harry’s house?” Louis is asking like he’s actually curious, and Zayn snorts when he can hear Niall think _Oh, fucking hell_ from where he’s out floating in the middle of the pool.

“Well,” Liam walks over so he’s sitting next to Zayn, pushing Zayn over so they’re sharing the same lounger. Zayn would complain if Liam wasn’t in such a great fucking mood, Zayn feeling grateful for it at the moment.

“Oh please do continue, Payno.” Louis sounds innocent, and even Harry snorts this time before he falls over into the pool, yelling too late about how meant to do it.

“I just think it still _could_ be considered a getaway since only one of us lives here. Plus, it’s like proper island weather today.”

“That…” Louis looks over at Zayn like he does sometimes when he can’t decide if Payno’s being too sincere to take the piss. Zayn shakes his head slightly, adjusting Niall’s Ray Bans he stole earlier and grinning when Louis continues. “Makes sense, Liam.”

“Thought it counted.” Liam leans back, shifting so he can wrap his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “Zayn, you feel like you’re doing good, is it me or you?”

“We’re both good, Li.” Zayn tips his head back against Liam’s forearm, thinking he could go for a quick kip. 

“Wicked.” It’s like Liam’s about to say more, his hand squeezing at Zayn’s shoulder when there’s a splash from the pool, Harry yelling out -- 

“Alright, who’s facing us?” 

When Zayn looks out Harry’s already got Niall balanced on his shoulders, the two of them grinning. 

“Who’s strong enough to face us?” Niall adds, wobbling and gripping at Harry’s hair when Harry starts laughing.

“Louis, Zayn, who’s up for it?” Liam’s already standing, hopping lightly on the balls of his feet. 

“It can’t be Zayn,” Harry calls out, “because it’s too easy for him to cheat.”

“Fuck’s sake, Haz,” Zayn sits up, annoyed even though he’d rather do a lot of things before getting in the pool at the moment. “Fuck off.”

“You and Niall can talk to each other,” Harry lists off on his fingers, Niall swaying precariously as he gesticulates, “you could make Liam have a shit mood to throw him off, you could paralyze Louis.”

“I mean technically he can talk to any of us, our minds aren’t particular to this game,” Niall adds, winking over at Zayn. _You don’t wanna anyway, don’t be a dick._

Zayn makes a face. _Louis’s not gonna do it._

“Louis,” Niall holds the knot of hair on the top of Harry’s head like it’s a saddle, and Zayn snorts, “Zayn doesn’t think you’ll do it.”

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters, bracing himself when Louis leans over to flick at his ear.

“Liam and I are gonna fucking destroy you two,” Louis motions for Liam to follow him to the edge of the pool as he tosses his vest back in Zayn’s direction. “And yeah, I’m on top. _No comments_ , thanks Harry.”

“I wasn’t.” Harry’s such a shit liar it makes Zayn laugh so hard he nearly chokes.

 _You can judge,_ Niall thinks then, and Zayn meets his eyes across the pool while Liam and Louis argue themselves into position. 

_Dunno, maybe I’ll cheat,_ Zayn can’t help himself, _maybe I’m biased._

 _I won’t tell if you won’t._ Niall’s concentrating as he links hands with Louis, Zayn already laughing at how Harry’s already gone full into competitive mode, the line of his jaw set like he might actually murder Liam right there in his posh pool, right next to the little bubbling fountain where he does his morning Tai Chi. 

**

Zayn feels slow when he taps at Louis’s arm for the bowl and lighter, loving how small Harry’s pool house is, makes it easier to box out. 

“We’re almost out, make it last.” Louis waves his hand over in Zayn’s general direction, “Forgot to have Olli stock up for me before we left.”

“Don’t need much more,” Zayn fumbles with the lighter as he takes a deep hit, holding it in until he feels like his lungs are about to give up. “Just one more.”

 _Liam does talk some shit,_ Niall’s voice curls slowly through his thoughts, and Zayn laughs, choking a bit and ruining it. 

“Gonna make it over there, Malik?” Louis holds out his hand and Zayn presses the stuff into it. 

“Think Niall’s having some sort of argument with Liam out there,” Zayn tries to hear more, but Niall must be keeping him out, nothing coming through. Oh fucking well.

“Better him than me.” Louis exhales a cloud of smoke, drawing his finger down through it to make some sort of pattern Zayn wonders if he could recreate. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, Louis.” Zayn wishes he hadn’t taken the last hit, knows he’s pushed past the chatty stage and is solidly in that space where all he wants to do is exist. 

“Lads, I-” Harry’s pushing open the door then, the two of them not even startling when he nearly trips over the towel Louis had shoved against the crack along the bottom. “Are you serious?”

“Nearly almost once a day at least, Hazza,” Louis laughs at his own joke, it hanging sharp in the air like Zayn could almost see it. 

“Are you hotboxing my poolhouse? I specifically said no hotboxing any space of my house.” Harry’s got a book tucked under his arm, that Bukowski shit he’s been on about for ages. 

“Are you reading that shit again?” Louis retorts, poking his foot out at Harry’s shin. “Making comments, adding your thoughts and feelings?”

“I’m annotating, sometimes it’s good for when I’m songwriting, actually, there’s this one that, hold on.” Harry’s distracted then, flipping through to find his spot and going on about how it’s for a song he’s not sure if he’s gonna shop out or not when it hits, the vision gathering slow like it does when Zayn’s fucked and it happens instead of a bright flash. 

It’s just Harry, sitting at a piano and singing something like the tune he’s humming now, distant to Zayn’s ears. It’s a small stage at a big venue, the crowd clearly there for him as he grins widely with his dimples deep. Zayn doesn’t see anyone else. 

When he comes back to it, Zayn blinks slowly, realizing what he really just saw. It’s not like the others, seeing something just about to happen or just a few hours from now. He comforts himself by thinking that in that brief vision Harry looked loads older. Maybe.

“Zayn?” Harry’s saying now, Zayn registering that he must have been saying it for a few minutes judging from how hard Louis’s laughing. “Did you have a vision? What am I in for? Am I gonna die from secondhand smoke?” He drapes himself over Zayn then, all limbs and questions, and Zayn doesn’t want to tell him. 

“You…” Zayn pauses, grateful he can mask it behind his high, “you’re gonna get a dog. After this tour.” Harry’s been talking about it for ages anyway, so it’s not necessarily a real lie. 

“What kind of dog was it? Was it a lab?” Harry pops up on his feet, his book and anger over the weed clearly forgotten.

“...yeah.” Zayn nods. “Like the one you’ve been talking about, Hazza.”

“This is brilliant!” Harry’s grinning when he spins around, already yelling about the dog to Liam and Niall out in the pool. “And I’m gonna name it something _amazing_.”

“So.” Louis takes a hit, not bothering to close the door behind Harry, “what did you really see?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zayn reaches for the bowl, doing the last of it and coughing with the effort.

“Know when you’re lying,” Louis sighs, “you’re a shit liar.”

“Just,” Zayn leans back, staring up at the ceiling, “saw Harry on stage. Alone. Solo.”

Louis makes a small noise that sounds like it comes from the back of his throat, one that Zayn’s never heard before. He gets quiet then, stays quiet for so long that Zayn’s not sure if he should ask if he’s okay or not. 

“When?” Louis asks, then, “Fuck, wish we weren’t out.”

“Dunno, couldn’t tell.”

Zayn takes advantage of Louis lapsing into silence again to see if Niall’s still out in the pool with Liam. He thinks slowly about what he saw, pushing it out and hoping Niall gets it.

 _Fuck, seriously?_ is what he gets, the tone of Niall’s voice tinged with something that sets Zayn on edge.

“We can’t tell Liam,” Louis says suddenly, sounding slow.

“What?” Zayn tries to catch up, not realizing he was broadcasting anything to Niall until suddenly Niall’s agreeing in his head. 

“He’d be done,” Louis shakes his head, voice cracking with it, “wondering when. Wondering why.”

“Be a lot for me to control, mood-wise,” Zayn tries out the joke, picking through his high and hearing Niall and Liam laughing and splashing again just outside.

“Maybe,” Louis exhales heavily even without smoke, “won’t even happen. Harry’s alive, yeah? That’s for something.”

“Yeah, it is. Bet it was rubbish.” Zayn wonders if Louis will call him out on this shit lie, but he just stays quiet.

**

They’re set for an early wake up to get to Arizona on time from Harry’s, so of course Zayn can’t fucking sleep. He’s already been up and down for a piss and some water as quietly as he could, knowing that everyone else are trying to rest up. Not that the past few days haven’t been a good rest. Been nice, really. A good break, good to be with the lads. 

“You’re awake?” Niall startles him when he speaks aloud from the doorway.

“Fuck,” Zayn whispers, sitting up, “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Was trying to keep it shut tight,” Niall steps toward Zayn slowly like he’s an exhibit at the zoo, pointing at his head, “in case you were sleeping.”

“Cheers.” Zayn scoots over so Niall can settle next to him on the bed, still keeping his voice low. “It’s fucked.”

“What’s fucked?” Niall scratches at the back of his neck, grinning, “Or should I say, what’s _not_ fucked?”

“Ha. I meant, like, how it feels bloody off to be talking to you like this, you know? Out loud, like?” Zayn ducks his head down, not wanting to meet Niall’s eyes. 

_This better?_

“We don’t have to,” Zayn laughs, looking over at Niall’s bright smile, not wanting to check and see if it reaches his eyes, _but yeah_.

 _It’s mad, how much easier things are now, in a way,_ Niall pokes his finger at Zayn’s leg through the blanket and continues aloud, “‘s too bad you can’t go back in time and tell those two sad fucks that, y’know, it gets better.”

“I don’t think me now,” Zayn points at himself, “showing up to the absolute rubbish me then would have helped anything. I’d be living off on a boat in the ocean somewheres.”

Niall laughs, and it’s like surround sound with the laughter in his brain mixing in with it, “Fucked off entirely.”

“Liam and Louis would have to do a rescue mission. Fighting on a boat.”

“Harry would hire a helicopter for the search party. Bring Ben and Cal to document it.”

“And you’d be--” Niall cuts Zayn off before he can finish, waving his hand about.

“I’d be with you, I suppose.”

Zayn takes a breath. “Why’s that?”

 _Dunno,_ comes quick, and Zayn knows it’s covering something up, “I was just as fucked as you, yeah? Always in my head. Might as well go along. You’d need some interesting company.”

Niall’s smiling wide, everything looking bright and hopeful, and Zayn swallows down the _but if I was gone you’d be better off_ , because he’s not so sure it’s true anymore.

“Why?” Niall settles in so he’s stretched out next to Zayn, almost sharing the same bloody pillow. Like they just had a shag and are about to whisper in the dark or something. “What did you think I’d be doing?”

“Manning down the pub,” Zayn says quick, “pissed as fuck.”

“What little faith we have,” Niall meets Zayn’s eyes, “you probably think I’d be off in the pub toilet, pissed and wanking nonstop. Couldn’t even say I’d be on the helicopter with Haz.”

“I’m just a realist.” When Zayn moves to get in a better position, his back feeling fucked by Harry’s extra firm guest bed, his nose brushes against Niall’s cheek. He freezes. 

_Been thinking,_ Niall starts, slipping into his mind again.

 _I’m aware._ Zayn huffs out a laugh when he interrupts. Niall pushes his palm against Zayn’s chest.

 _The other night,_ that’s all Niall thinks for a moment, his eyes searching Zayn’s face. His palm is warm, and it’s the only place they’re touching. Zayn bloody hopes that Niall can’t feel how fast his heart is beating at the moment. 

_What about it?_ Zayn thinks, very clearly, glad he’s mostly sober and able to keep it simple.

 _I wonder,_ Niall takes a deep breath, “d’ya think it was just then? Because I was having a bad time of it? Or is it like….”

Zayn’s voice cracks when he speaks. “Another aspect of the power, like?”

“Yeah.” Niall doesn’t say any more, just stares at Zayn with his mind blank.

“Are you saying,” Zayn tries to make his mind catch up to whatever the fuck is happening right now, feeling like anything he says is going to come out like a load of bollocks. 

“I’m just.” Niall closes his eyes, keeping them shut when he finishes, “curious.”

 _Guess we just,_ Zayn nudges closer, his lips almost touching Niall’s. 

_Can’t hurt._ Niall’s lips catch on Zayn’s bottom lip, a light touch, and Zayn sucks in a breath. It’s actually sharper than before, Zayn wondering if it’s because they’re both not fucked up. _Fuuuuuck,_ Niall says, and it’s actually somehow louder. Like an echo in his head. 

Niall’s tongue touches his, and Zayn can feel his whole brain going off like a flare. He reaches up to cup Niall’s jaw in his hand, wondering if Niall can feel the heat from his scar in his head.

 _Yeah, it’s burning up,_ Niall laughs into Zayn’s mouth, rolling over him and kissing him with what feels like more intent, like it’s a snog that’s going somewhere. But.

 _The lads._ Zayn knows that even his thoughts feel breathless, and Niall swears so loud in his head at it that Zayn has to pull away to bury his head in Niall’s neck and lose it.

“Fuck, so.” Niall’s speaking so soft but Zayn hears it anyway.

“Yeah,” Zayn says against Niall’s neck, “fuck.”

**

The show in Arizona is weirdly charged, Zayn’s not sure if there’s really any one reason or if it’s everything. Liam’s gone off, excited because of their lads getaway and because Sophia’s flying in for Vegas. Harry’s excited because he’s having a good hair day or something, shaking it out in everyone’s faces backstage before the show and yelling some bollocks about how it’s finally the right length to lie right or some nonsense, shoving at Louis when he’d yelled out for Lou to bring over her scissors. Even Louis is weirdly manic, all over Harry whenever he fucks off with Liam or Niall to do some rubbish. Zayn knows why, but he doesn’t really want to think too much on it. 

And then there’s Niall. 

He’s his usual self, bouncing all over the stage like he can’t sit still for a minute, but it’s even more than it usually is. And like he’s more...he keeps checking in, like. In a way it’s really working that Louis is more engaged with both Haz and Liam so Niall’s less distracted by the two of them. He’s circling Zayn, almost. Thinking shit that’s making Zayn forget lyrics more than usual, fucking up “Through the Dark” so bad that it takes Harry and Louis to cover for him, just because Niall had some idle fucking thought about how when Zayn bit his lip his dick thought it was real interesting.

Zayn’s sitting upstage when Niall comes up to him, settling in between Zayn’s legs and leaning forward, reaching up to pop out Zayn’s in ear like he’s about to whisper something.

 _Just for show, you know._ Niall’s got his mouth moving against the shell of Zayn’s ear like he’s saying something, and Zayn bites his lip to keep from smiling too broad.

 _You better watch it, twat._ Niall laughs as soon as Zayn thinks it, hand coming up to squeeze at Zayn’s shoulder.

_Louis’s got Hazza over the moon, thinks he’s really taking cues from him to improve his stage presence._

_Let him and Liam have it,_ Zayn thinks quickly when he glances up stage at the bright grin Liam’s got on his face while the three of them do their dance, shaking his head. _It’ll wear off in a few shows._

“This high’s gonna last forever!” Niall leans back and yells square in Zayn’s face, reaching out to swipe at a bead of sweat running down Zayn’s neck before he runs down stage and jumps on Harry’s back, Zayn bracing himself for a vision that they’re both about to topple over and kick it. 

But nothing happens except the swell of yelling in the crowd when Harry catches him easily. Zayn closes his eyes and starts laughing, feeling like his good mood is bubbling up out of his skin, even before Liam gets to him from his jog down the catwalk.

**

Their schedule is so fucked through the end of the tour, them going back and forth so much that Zayn’s just going with it. They had all been pissed when they added Vegas in at the last minute, but then once Payno and Niall realized they could do their joint birthday blowout there, it’s been constant anticipation. And now it’s too crowded, Zayn used to how insular things have been with them all since everything happened with Europe. He’s hid in the corner of the party with Louis, waiting for Niall to wind down. Zayn’s not sure what he wants to happen, but it feels like maybe something should. Niall’s been running around the party like he’s gone mad the whole night, going so fast that Zayn hasn’t been able to keep track.

“Back to our Texas leg after this,” Louis laughs when Zayn makes his bomb sit in his tea. “This tea is the bomb.”

“Think Harry’s the only one who’d appreciate that one,” Zayn laughs anyway, moving it back and scattering his birds. “Texas leg?”

“Yeah,” Louis stretches, flicking over at Zayn’s hand when he tries to fuck with his stag. “We’re on the Texas leg now. Every fucking show, back to Texas. Starting to think it’s a new continent.”

“Ask Harry, everything’s bigger there.” 

“It’s fine, we’ve only got like, what? I think it’s only twenty more Texas shows, we’ll get to Miami eventually.”

Zayn puts his birds back. “You already get the yacht booked?” 

“Oh, I am the Miami party planner, just wait.” 

“I’m good at waiting,” Zayn mutters, catching a stray thought from Niall somewhere nearby, wondering where Zayn’s got off to because he’s ready to go. 

“What was that?” Louis is engrossed in his phone now, when Zayn glances over he can see that he’s texting El. Some bullshit about Texas, probably. 

“Nothing.” Zayn stands up. “Gonna go up to my room, I think.” He thinks it, real hard, swaying on his feet and looking down at the line of bottles he and Louis had managed to empty between them. 

“Cheers,” Louis doesn’t look up, “see you on the plane tomorrow. Gotta get back to--”

“Texas, yeah yeah.” Zayn throws up a wave in Louis’s direction when he leaves, stumbling a bit when he gets Niall’s _meet you there_ clear through his thoughts.

Zayn lets himself in his room, kicking aside his bag that he had thrown there earlier. Most of their shit is still on the buses somewhere in Texas since they’re only in Vegas for less than a day. The set had been quick earlier, backstage a madhouse of people Zayn had known would be at the party later. He managed to avoid most of them in both places, feeling pretty good about it all. It’s just that much easier, not having to deal with it. Too much has happened.

When Niall stumbles in, his cheeks flushed like he ran the whole way, he’s already laughing.

“Proud of being a shut in?” He laughs, toeing off his shoes and already pulling his vest over his head before launching on the bed, Zayn bouncing a bit on the edge with it. 

“You know it’s easier,” Zayn starts to say, stopping when he turns and Niall’s already scooted down the bed, his hand curling around the back of Zayn’s neck as he hauls him in for a snog.

Niall’s breathing hard when he pulls back, “just taking the mick.” 

“Fuck.” Zayn shakes his head and presses his scar against Niall’s chest experimentally, to see what’ll happen. Niall’s muscles jump under his palm, his thoughts going sharp and confused. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t know,” Niall shrugs, his thoughts going bright and honest, “I just know that I wanna see. I’d add it to Liam’s notebook if that’d make you want it too.”

His eyes are unfocused and bright when Zayn looks up, the pupils blowing out when the he drags his hand over to slot his fingers against Niall’s ribs. “Hey,” Zayn says.

_I want to._

“Thank fucking Christ.” Niall’s breathless, pushing at Zayn until Zayn gets the hint, pulling off his own shirt and moving up the bed, Niall settling over him as soon as his back hits the sheets. Niall pauses there for a moment, his eyes going a bit crossed when he looks down, whiskey breath skimming over Zayn’s lips. 

_Hold still_ he thinks, dipping his head down to run his tongue out over Zayn’s collarbone and then up over Zayn’s neck, the contact exploding bright and loud in the back of Zayn’s mind when their lips meet. 

It’s a messy snog, but in that way Zayn loves when he’s a bit pissed, everything making sense and echoing. Niall’s thoughts are too overwhelming to process, how didn’t he know Zayn could kiss like this, will he have beard burn tomorrow, he’s already fucking harder than shit. The thoughts come in waves, new ones surging up whenever Niall rolls his hips down. It’s driving Zayn absolutely mad. It’s almost like at the beginning, when they couldn’t shut anything off. But in a good way, like.

Zayn slides his hand down between them to fumble at Niall’s flies when he’s able to pick out from the sensory overload that Niall’s _about to make a mess of myself, Jesus_ , Niall biting down at Zayn’s lip hard when Zayn’s able to get his hand around him. It’s awkward, at first, both from the angle and how Zayn’s using his left hand, unsure what’ll happen if he touches Niall’s cock bare with his scar. How Zayn’s not sure what Niall likes.

 _Fuuuuck,_ is all that’s coming through, Zayn concentrating too hard to make anything else out when he rolls Niall so he’s more on his back, Niall pulling at his jeans and pants to get them down his legs. Zayn holds back while he does, just wanting to take it all in with his hand resting lightly on Niall’s thigh. 

_What are you doing? Get on with it_. Niall flicks his eyes up to Zayn, then down to where Zayn’s still wearing his jeans. _Wanna get your kit off first?_ he presses the back of his palm against where Zayn’s dick is straining out the zip, and he opens up his mind to Niall so Niall can feel just how fucked up he is over it. 

_Fucking shit, Zayn_. Niall’s all hands and thoughts then, Zayn’s pants in a pile at the end of the bed before he can get a handle on what’s happening, Niall’s mouth on his at the same time he touches his cock. It’s even more of an intense feeling, Zayn gripping Niall’s shoulders like he’s drowning in it. 

“Hey,” Niall’s voice is echoing everywhere, “want to try something.” He takes Zayn’s right wrist in both of his hands then, Zayn groaning at the loss of his hand on his cock and pushing his hips against Niall’s hip, waiting to see what he’s gonna do because Zayn’s getting nothing from his mind but heat. 

Holding Zayn’s hand, Niall closes his eyes before running his tongue slowly over Zayn’s palm, intensity flaring up the second he licks over the scar. He opens his eyes to meet Zayn’s when he does it again, pupils blown out when he pushes Zayn’s hand down to wrap it around his cock. Niall holds Zayn’s palm out, hovering over his cock to press each finger down separately. Zayn can feel the heat of it radiating over the skin of his scar when Niall rubs Zayn’s thumb over the head, precome gathering as fast as Niall’s thoughts are spinning out. Niall flicks his eyes up to Zayn’s the second he pushes his palm down, both of them gasping at the contact when Niall strokes it up once and then back down. 

“How does it feel?” Zayn gasps out, unable to sort through anything in Niall’s mind right now other than how it’s like every stroke is pinging up to Niall’s head and back into Zayn’s, shooting straight to Zayn’s cock.

“Hot,” Niall mumbles, “so fucking hot. Can you feel?”

Zayn shakes his head, not sure if he can even explain. Niall kisses him then, everything feeling shaky, before he twists his hips and settles against Zayn. He grips at Zayn’s hip to maneuver him forward, Zayn going pliant until he realizes what Niall’s doing, pushing their cocks together so Zayn can get a hand around them both, Niall guiding it with his own fingers laced through Zayn’s.

And it’s. It’s fucking too much. Zayn’s not sure how long it lasts because everything is centered on what’s happening between them. Like Zayn has never been so in the moment before when he’s with someone.

 _Same_ , is all that comes through clear above the rest, and it’s that one rough thought that tips Zayn over the edge, coming over their hands so hard it shoots up over Niall’s chest. Zayn laughs at how Niall’s mind wrinkles up at how he thinks that’s hot before he bites at Niall’s lip and twists his scar hard over the head of Niall’s cock, Niall nearly levitating off the bed when he comes with a shout that reverberates through Zayn’s skull. 

“Look at that,” Zayn says, breathless, “I almost made you fly. Gotta add it to the list.”

“Like to see you explain that one to Payno,” Niall whispers, “‘sides, Harry would want a go.”

**

 _Bus 1 is fucking stupid._ Niall sounds put out, and Zayn gets it, rolling over in his bunk so his cock isn’t pressed up against his stomach. 

_Louis just wanted to hang out since I’ve been in such a good mood_.

_It’s fine, had a good time with Harry and Liam anyway._

_What’d you do?_

_Harry and Liam both had half an hour to write a song, then I judged ‘em._

_Anything good?_

_Nah, they were both shit, I called a forfeit. They’re both having a pout in the lounge._

Zayn laughs. It’s been crazy since they left Vegas, all go. He and Niall have barely had a moment to really try much more out than a couple of quick wanks, usually sleeping on the bus. It’s been mad, how much more Zayn wants. And not even just the Niall stuff. It’s almost like now that Zayn’s got a real handle on all his shit everything’s evening out. He almost likes it, how he can sit back during a show but feel like he’s buoying the rest of them, in a fucked up way. 

_So what are you thinking?_ Niall’s thought is slow like he’s angling for something, and Zayn closes his eyes.

_Can’t wait?_

_If we can like, sex think like this, why not take advantage Zayn? For fuck’s sake, get your head in the game._

Zayn laughs, hoping that Louis can’t hear him. 

_I guess I’m shit at this, take all my powers away._

There’s silence after that, for so long that Zayn is worried that he did something, fucked himself over. He’s about to test giving Louis a headache and incur his wrath to see what happens when his phone is vibrating next to him. Niall.

“The fucking bus had to stop,” Niall swears at someone, Zayn can hear him yelling at Harry that he doesn’t give a fuck, “so. Where were we?” 

**

“Can someone remind Harry that we’re telling people no pictures? Fucking hell.” Louis nods over at where Harry’s clearly about to take a few, so drunk he can barely stand.

“I nominate Niall,” Liam says, “he won’t listen to anyone else.”

“Oh my God,” Niall’s laughing, beads around his neck like a twat, “fine, I’ll go handle him.”

“Zayn,” Liam asks as he slides around the booth, “do you see Harry getting into anything? Think we’re good?”

Zayn chuckles, massaging his temples and thinking for a minute. “Dunno, Liam. Think it’s going to be close.”

“Serious?” Liam’s eyes are wide, and Zayn starts laughing.

“Payno, we’ve been going out this whole leg, it’ll be fine.” Louis interrupts, pointing at Liam with his eyes bright. “Now get your tits out, we’re in New Orleans.”

“Did someone say tits out?” Niall comes up to the table, Harry in tow. “How’s this, Tommo? Gimme all your beads.” He’s stretching out the armhole of his vest to get his nip out, Louis grinning and tossing some more of the beads from the bag a fan had thrown on stage in his direction.

“Me too,” Harry’s fumbling with his buttons, finally giving up and sliding his shirt over to show one pec, then the other. 

“You’re always tits out, it doesn’t count.” Liam reaches over, catching the beads when Louis lazily chucks them at Haz.

“Am not.” Harry falls over Louis, crawling to get to where Liam’s in the corner. “Take it back, I earned those fair and square.”

“Shove over,” Niall mutters, his vest still stretched out when he sits next to Zayn. Instinctively, Zayn reaches up to twist at Niall’s nipple, making Niall suck in a breath and swear loud in his mind. 

“Liam, there’s plenty to go around,” Harry’s yelling loud, already got some beads wrapped around his head as he grapples with Liam, Louis tossing more between them while it looks like he’s filming it.

“Plenty of your tits to go around,” Liam pins Harry’s wrist to the table, and Zayn is about to tell Louis to hand him his phone so he can get a better angle when Niall’s hand is on his cock under the table, squeezing hard.

 _Revenge,_ is all Niall’s thinking, sounding smug in Zayn’s mind, and Zayn bloody hopes that no one suggests going to the next bar for a few minutes. 

**

Niall’s sweat drips onto Zayn’s back as he holds himself over him, Zayn sucking in a breath at the sensation. He’s not sure what time it is or even how they ended up this way, everything going tangled the second they got back to the hotel, Niall going a million miles a minute. It feels like their connection is even stronger, somehow, like they don’t need to think anymore about how to make it flow. It’s just happening. 

Niall had started out with Zayn gasping under him while he licked a wide stripe over his cock, fisting his own in the same rhythm before deciding he needed to kiss Zayn instead, going like that for ages while he tried out every thought that hit them both. 

Like now, when Zayn’s on his stomach with his legs splayed out and Niall pressed to his back, hips rocking slow so the head of his cock nudges up behind Zayn’s balls. With every thrust Zayn pushes down into the bed and his hand, biting at his lip hard when Niall presses a spit slicked finger to his arse a second after Zayn idly wondered how it would feel.

Niall’s mouthing at Zayn’s fantail when Zayn comes, Niall following a moment later and mumbling some nonsense into Zayn’s skin, everything clear in his mind.

 _It’s like I’m seeing what you want before I even think, like you know what I need without --_ Niall’s shaking his head, nose grazing the nape of Zayn’s neck. All Zayn can do is nod, wondering if he’ll ever come down from this high. 

**

The show’s felt six times longer than usual tonight. It’d be fine if Niall’d keep his bloody hands to himself, but he won’t, and knowing it’s driving Zayn up the wall is only making him happier. Zayn just wants to get the fuck off this stage and get anywhere. Snog Niall in a broom closet, maybe, or in the showers. Preferably his hotel room but at this point, Zayn doesn’t fucking care.

It peaks when Niall cops a feel as they’re lined up during “What Makes You Beautiful,” dragging his palm along Zayn’s spine before snaking his hand around Zayn’s waist to palm his cock. It’s quick enough to seem friendly, the same type of shit they used to pull all the time, only Niall’s regulating his thoughts so that all Zayn gets is fragmented bits, _mouth_ and _cock_ and _fuck_ before they’re all breaking apart. Zayn’s stuck where he is, frozen in his tracks, watching Niall run away, a flush crawling over his skin that’s got nothing to do with how fucking hot it is out. 

_Fucking hell_ , he thinks, shaking himself out of his trance, hearing Niall laugh out loud in response. Zayn spins in a circle, feeling unbalanced, before spotting Liam bouncing up one of the ramps. He heads in that direction, hoping Liam’s energy will be strong enough to overpower whatever’s brewing inside him, at least until the show’s over. 

**

 _Cameras_ , Niall thinks when Zayn leans too close to Niall in the hotel hallway. Zayn steps back, trying not to brush his lips against the red mark his stubble’s already left on Niall’s nape. 

_Should’ve just stayed on the bus. Least there’s no cameras there._ There hadn’t been a question in his mind about coming back here after the show, just full foregone conclusion now that they’ve finally got some real time to themselves. Maybe they should’ve gone a different route. Least on the bus Zayn could already have Niall’s mouth on his prick.

“Jesus bleeding Christ,” Niall says, the light flashing red again. His voice sounds so loud to Zayn, so different. It’s surprising every time. Niall elbows him when he tries to take the key away, give it a try himself. Zayn laughs, pushing back to lean against the doorframe, giving Niall the space he wants.

 _Better?_

Niall takes a steadying breath, ignoring Zayn in favor of getting the door open. He barely has a second to get his bearings, Niall spinning them, pressing Zayn up against the wall the second they’re inside. 

_Better now_. Niall kisses Zayn, setting off that same flare as always. It’s addictive; Zayn doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to life without it, if it ever disappears. Niall bites Zayn’s lip hard, Zayn groaning and losing his train of thought. Niall’s hands feel like they’re everywhere, the heady rush of it making Zayn tip his head back, look up at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath. There’s no way to, though, he never will, not when Niall’s tugging at his belt already. 

_No fecking help ever_ , Niall thinks, nails dragging across Zayn’s abdomen, _always such a lazy arsehole._

Zayn flattens himself against the door as best he can, trying to shove Niall backwards as he thinks, _Oh, fuck you._ Niall winks, laughing, and Zayn pushes him again, getting enough space between them that he can take care of his trousers by himself.

 _Cheers_. Niall falls backwards onto the bed, wriggling out of most of his clothes, a cocky grin on his face like he’d been angling for this all along. Zayn shakes his head, pulling off his shirt and chucking it at Niall. _Just trying to be efficient_. Niall reaches for Zayn, dragging him down for a long, lazy snog. 

Zayn feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust from it, like somehow them being completely sober is making everything louder, brighter, more intense. It’s unreal, Niall knowing exactly what Zayn wants --

 _No shit,_ Niall thinks, laughing when Zayn mutters, “Shut up,” into the curve of his pec. Niall threads his fingers through Zayn’s hair, arching into him, his laugh falling apart and all his thoughts going stuttery when Zayn bites at him hard enough to leave a mark. 

_Y’like that?_

Niall groans, his cock twitching where it’s trapped between them. It’s mental, how there’s still so much he doesn’t know about Niall, even after all these years. Zayn surges upwards so he can kiss Niall properly, their bodies fitting together easily, Niall’s hands digging into the small of his back like he’s trying to pull Zayn even closer than he already is.

 _What do you want? I could --_ Zayn’s interrupted by Niall’s thoughts coming through stronger than ever before, pushing into Zayn’s brain like a moment of total clarity where he sees himself fucking Niall, a flush high on his chest, the sheen of his sweat, his leg hooked over Zayn’s arm, and Jesus bloody fuck, it’s too much.

 _Yes,_ , he thinks, kissing Niall, grinding against his thigh, _fuck yes._

Niall’s right there with him, his voice like an echo, _yes, c’mon, yes_ , his hips arching off the bed, making it hard for Zayn to think.

There’s lube and condoms in NIall’s bathroom, though it’s hard for Zayn to find them when he can hear Niall slowly fisting his cock, his quiet moans and internal monologue layering over each other in Zayn’s brain like he’s mixing tracks. He has to pause, brace himself on the cold porcelain of the sink, in order to catch his breath. Regain his balance. 

_C’mon_ , Niall urges, so loud that maybe he’s said it and Zayn can’t tell the difference anymore. He pushes the same vision into Zayn’s brain once they’re snogging again and Zayn’s breath catches on it, his whole body shivering. 

_Fuuuuuck_. Niall tenses, making Zayn’s own chest feel tight as he slowly presses his finger in. He shakes his head at Zayn’s worry. _No, don’t stop, I’m good_.

He gives Niall a minute to adjust anyway, waits until he’s pushing back against Zayn’s fingers to duck down, guiding Niall’s cock into his mouth. He chuckles when Niall’s train of thought splinters apart with, _Jesus fucking Christ, Zayn_. His fingers twist in Zayn’s hair, pulling hard, Zayn groaning against it, making Niall’s hips jerk up, sending him cursing again, his breath coming in broken gasps. 

_Still alright?_ he asks. Niall’s knuckles dig into his skull and Zayn gets a flash of what he must look like right now, bent between Niall’s legs, his lips red and stretched obscenely around Niall’s cock. He groans, closing his eyes against it, but that doesn’t help, his own cock aching even as he tries to focus on curling his fingers, finding that spot to make Niall --

 _Fuck --_ Niall’s hips jerk, faster than Zayn can anticipate, making Niall think _shit, sorry, fuck_ and then he’s tugging at Zayn’s hair, his thoughts sounding desperate with, _you gotta, I’m ready, Zayn_.

He kisses Niall after he gets the condom on, lets all his thoughts settle right on the surface for Niall to hear or see or whatever the fuck it is that’s going to happen next. Astral bloody projection or whatever. 

_Zayn_ , Niall thinks, and that’s all it takes, Zayn shifting enough that he can hitch Niall’s good leg hgh around his waist before he presses in, his teeth digging into his lip so he doesn’t nut off the second he bottoms out. 

_Shit,_. Zayn's brain is going haywire with how tight Niall is, how good he feels, how badly he wants to move. “Niall.” He doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, his body clenching around Zayn, making him feel dizzy. 

_I’m,_ Niall starts, pulling at Zayn’s shoulder until he leans close enough that they can kiss again, all Niall’s thoughts coming through crystal clear, how full he feels, how Zayn’s bony hips are digging into his arse, and then, fucking finally, _move_.

Zayn nods, not even trusting his thoughts to be coherent. It’s fits and starts, trying to work up to something that’s good for both of them, but there’s a second where Niall’s brain goes totally, amazingly blank before Zayn gets that same flare as the first time they kissed and, _shitting fuck_ , Niall thinks, his back bowed as he clutches at Zayn’s bicep. 

_Fuck._ Zayn is sure he’s not getting enough oxygen as he tries to hit that spot again. He shifts his weight but Niall stops him, thinking, _no, you keep --_ while reaching for his cock, his head thrown back as he pulls himself off, and suddenly Zayn’s getting every single thought and feeling Niall’s having.

It’s fucked, completely, totally fucked, like Zayn’s having an out-of-body experience. Niall is so hot and tight around him, meeting Zayn’s thrusts, and it’s -- Zayn just hopes Niall’s getting this the same way he’s getting how good Niall feels right now, focusing the last bits of his concentration in that direction, because if he’s not --

 _I am,_ Niall thinks, making Zayn wonder if he can see things from Zayn’s perspective, the same way Zayn’s getting Niall’s. _Jesus Christ, Zayn,_ he hears, and Niall’s making a choked-off noise, everything he’s broadcasting going quiet right before he comes.

It’s too much for Zayn to handle, like Niall’s orgasm’s stacked right on top of his own, Zayn feeling like he’s coming well before he actually is and then everything stretching on for so long he feels wrung-out, wrecked, his muscles actually shaking with effort of not crushing Niall.

 _You won’t_ , Niall thinks, Zayn feeling his laugh more than actually hearing it. All Zayn can do is shake his head, giving Niall half a second’s warning before he pulls out, using his last reserves to tie off the condom and pitch it towards the bin.

“Fuck,” Niall says, his voice ragged, cracking from disuse. He reaches for Zayn’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Zayn’s scar burns when their palms touch. 

_I_ , Zayn stops himself when he realizes he’s at a loss. 

Niall squeezes his hand, turns his head to kiss Zayn’s shoulder. _I know._

**

At first Zayn thinks it’s the radio, this low song dragging him out of the depths of sleep.

 _Sorry._ The singing stops, Niall's thoughts quiet as a whisper. _Thought you were asleep_.

 _Was_. The bed’s still warm, so Niall can’t have been awake long. 

_Like ten minutes_. Niall comes out of the toilet with his toothbrush still in his mouth. He’s got an angry red mark on his chest, the same color Zayn’s scar was all the way back in the beginning. _Bus call’s in an hour, if you wanna shower._

Zayn wants to do a lot of things. He tries to push them all to Niall, wondering if it works all the time now. It does, judging by the way Niall has to steady himself on the desk.

 _We’ve only got an hour._ Niall disappears back into the toilet to spit out his toothpaste. He turns the shower on, too, urging Zayn to hurry up.

 _It’s fine_ , Zayn thinks, stretching before he shoves the blankets off. _Harry’s gonna be late, so we’ve got like, at least an extra half hour._

**

“I know that I talked a lot of shit about Texas,” Louis kicks the ball against the wall backstage harder, “but at least it didn’t rain there fucking every day.”

“This whole tour has really had a like, rainy theme.” Harry steals one of Zayn’s crisps, talking with his mouth full, “a rain aesthetic.”

“A what?” Liam tosses the ball back to Louis. “Are you just being Harry right now?”

“He’s being a pretentious twat right now,” Louis balances the ball on his knee. “He can’t just say, oh, it’s rained a fuckton this tour.”

“Don’t know why you have to be a rude person so much, Louis,” Harry props his journal up on his knees, scribbling something down.

“Because everyone loves it so much, that’s why. And without it you’d be a right fucking mess. I keep all of you lot in check.” Louis kicks the ball back to Liam, almost knocking a table down in the process.

Niall shifts where he’s got his head in Zayn’s lap, Zayn the only one who knows he’s not sleeping. _It’s cute Tommo thinks that, really_.

 _Go ahead, wake up and tell him that._ Zayn tangles his hand in Niall’s hair, scratching at his scalp until Niall makes a small satisfied noise, just loud enough that when Zayn glances over Harry’s looking over at them with a smile on his face. 

There’s a roll of thunder outside, and Paul pokes his head in the door. 

“We’re already an hour over, meeting in ten minutes. Yes, Louis, that means all of you. In ten minutes.”

He’s gone before Louis can protest, and Niall’s sitting up then with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. 

“If we reschedule,” he announces, “bet they’ll make us come back after Miami.”

Zayn holds back a laugh when everyone sighs in unison. 

“Maybe suck it up?” Liam asks, “it might not be too bad.”

“Guess it can’t get much worse than Bern?” Harry’s voice sounds tentative, and the room goes quiet.

“It’s true,” Zayn’s not sure if he’s talking loud or if it just feels that way, holding up his hand, “it can’t, really.”

He gets up then though, ignoring Niall’s loud protests in his head and shutting out how Liam and Louis start in on Harry before he’s even out the door. 

The thing is, Zayn’s not even upset. He’s not even sure how he is, wandering around backstage until he can slot himself safely behind the stage, watches the rain lashing down onto the sparse crowd.

“Think that most of them are under cover,” Harry’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Soz, Zayn.”

“Harry, it’s really alright.” Zayn tips his head to the side, meeting Harry’s wide eyes and smiling to put him at ease. “It’s not how it used to be.”

“Things are good lately,” Harry agrees, nodding. “But I think we’re gonna be late, I just wanted to make sure --”

“Go ahead, I’m behind you.” Zayn takes one last look out to the stage before he turns, and that’s when it hits him; he can barely look at Harry’s retreating back before it’s clear before his eyes.

Harry’s sliding a little down the catwalk in the driving rain, skidding out on a large puddle and hitting hard, his leg twisting out funny. Zayn can see himself this time, just behind Harry with a look on his face as he runs forward, a flash of lightning exploding overhead as he moves with his mic gripped tight in his hand.

When Zayn gets to Harry, the closest to him on the stage, he drops his mic and reaches for Harry’s face as Harry nods and mouths that he’s okay, already getting up on his own. And Zayn’s palm is clear. The scar is gone.

As soon as it’s over, Zayn realizes he’s crouched on the floor, holding his head like he’s ducking something. It’s still raining, thunder rolling nearby again when Zayn manages to right himself, his legs shaky as he moves to get to the meeting, feeling like he’s a robot operating on autopilot. 

_Fuck_.

They’re all sitting in a circle when Zayn gets there, arguing already about whether or not to cancel. Niall’s yelling something about how they’re all being wimps when Zayn sits, glancing down at his palm and tracing the scar with his other hand. 

“Let’s cancel.” Zayn says it loudly before he realizes, everyone’s heads snapping over in his direction.

“You sure?” Liam is testing out his mood, Zayn can tell by how he feels some excitement flood his veins. It just makes him feel more sure.

“We should.” Zayn looks over at Harry, who shrugs, and Louis, who’s watching him intently, his fingers absently rubbing at his forearm. It takes Zayn a second to realize he’s trying to hide how Zayn’s got all his tattoos spinning.

“Well,” Paul sounds like he’s about to start a lecture, “we can reschedule, but that’ll cancel out your plans for Miami. The weather service is saying we should be good in another half hour at most.”

“No,” Niall talks over Zayn when he opens his mouth, “Paul. Let’s cancel.” He looks over at Zayn, and a flurry of thoughts trip out from Niall’s mind to his, all mixed up. Niall saw, even without them touching. He sees it clear, Zayn can feel it. More than anyone else, Zayn needs Niall to agree to this.

There’s another thought, too, deeper in Niall’s mind, one that’s got Niall flushing bright and squirming in his seat, but Zayn pushes it back. Waits for later.

“If even _Niall_ wants to, then--” Paul starts, hands on his hips.

“We all want to,” Louis takes Harry’s flannel when he hands it to him and shrugs it on, pulling at the cuffs so they hang over his wrists. “Right?” He glances around at them all, winking when he meets Zayn’s eyes.

“I don’t wanna get pneumonia,” Harry offers, following it up with a fake cough.

“Sophia’s back at the hotel,” Liam’s already pulling out his phone, fingers moving fast as he starts texting.

“Paul, just reschedule it,” Niall stands up, stretching, “I’ll make the announcement to the crowd if you want, it’ll go easier.”

Paul’s nodding, gesturing for Niall to follow him out. Niall stops, though, just long enough to grab Zayn’s hand and squeeze it tight, finger running over Zayn’s scar twice before he’s out of the room.

_It’s gonna be sick, Zayn._

  
THE END


End file.
